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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2009  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/twixtlovedutyOObart 


TwiXT 


Love  and  Duty, 


BY 


Major  W.  C.  Bartlett,  U.  S.  A. 


NEW   YORK    CITY  : 
LEW   VANDERPOOLE   PUBLISHING   COMPANY. 


Copyright, 

1890, 

By  W.  C.  Bartlett. 


]An  rights  reserved  by  the  author. \ 


AN  IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

It  was  a  cold,  clear  night  of  February, 
1 86-,  years  before  the  tide  of  that  migratory 
spirit  which  obeyed  the  behest  of  fashion 
and  interest,  had  obliterated  the  old  familiar 
landmarks  of  lower  New  York,  and  estab- 
lished farther  inland,  upon  bases  of  grander 
displa}^  the  alluring  temples  of  Bacchus  and 
Terpsichore.  To  one  unfamiliar  with  the 
political  history  of  the  times,  before  whose 
eyes  the  moving  panorama  of  opposing  hosts 
had  never  passed  ;  upon  whose  ears  had  fal- 
len no  other  sounds  than  those  evolved  in  the 
busy  life  of  a  mammoth  cit}^ — the  every-day 
existence  of  New  York  would  have  contain- 
ed no  suggestion  at  variance  with  a  precon- 
ceived idea  of  a  populous  and  opulent  me- 
tropolis. Though  the  exigencies  of  the  great 
civil  war  had  for  two  years  been  tugging  at 


777133 

r»    -\   #«J  r'i    e-  -  . 


4  AN    irA'L   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

the  resources  of  men  and  money  which, 
open-handed,  had  been  placed  to  the  Nation's 
credit,  it  would  have  taken  an  eye  more  crit- 
ical than  that  of  a  novice,  to  detect  any  gap 
in  the  living  wall  of  humanity  which  crowded 
the  streets  by  day,  and  swelled  the  tide  flow- 
ing into  restaurant  or  theatre  at  night.  And 
yet,  responding  to  that  clarion  note,  which 
had  through  city  and  country  tov/n — through 
the  busy  marts  of  trade  and  the  peaceful  fields 
of  husbandry,  proclaimed  their  country's 
need,  thousands  upon  thousands  of  voices  had 
answered — "  Here  !  "—the  places  which  had 
known  them,  knew  them  no  more  ;  their  foot- 
steps were  pressed  upon  unwelcoming 
ground  ;  side  by  side,  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
middle  age  and  youth.,  country  born  and  city 
bred,  in  espousal  of  a  common  cause,  ani- 
mated with  the  same  desire,  had  dropped 
plough-share  and  pen,  pruning-hook  and 
ledger  and  filled  the  ranks  of  a  grand  fra- 
ternity. 

"  Charity,"  seated  upon  her  graceful  throne 
bathod  in  the  reflected  light  of  her  own  bene- 
ficence,   crowned  with    the    dual  blessing  of 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  $ 

bestowal  and  of  gratitude,  was  upon  this, 
night  of  February,  putting  forth  her  hand 
again  in  aid  of  the  suffering  wives  and  child- 
ren, whom  the  cruelties  of  war  had  left  wid- 
owed and  fatherless.  The  "  Academy  of 
Music,"  whose  walls  might  tell  the  tale  oi 
many  a  triumph  ;  whose  spaces  from  pit  to 
proscenium,  teem  with  association  ;  where 
genius  has  received  its  baptism  of  immortal- 
ity and  munificence  in  the  garb  of  Revel,  dis- 
pensed a  royal  charity,  was  to  be  thrown  open 
for  a  crowning  effort.  ''  Delmonico's  "  was 
a  scene  of  light  and  animation,  as,  at  an  early 
hour  of  this  evening,  two  gentlemen  seated 
themselves  at  a  cozy  table,  in  a  corner  look- 
ing out  upon  the  avenue.  Both  of  them 
were  army  men  and  one  carried,  and  would 
carry  to  his  grave  a  scar  of  honorable 
warfare.  Above  the  average  height  of  men, 
with  a  faultless  figure,  and  a  face  singularly 
handsome,  Charlie  Blaisdel  might  have  mar- 
ried almost  any  girl  for  the  asking.  He  had 
wealth,  talent,  a  chivalric  manner  of  address 
— nearly  every  quality  to  please  a  woman, 
except  constancy.     He  had  thought  himself 


6  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

in  love  a  dozen  times,  and  had  discovered  in 
the  light  of  some  new  attraction  that  his  sup- 
posed ideal  had  taken  wings,  with  promise  of 
materialization  in  the  latest  acquisition  to  his 
lengthening  list  of  fair  divinities.  Hugh 
Griswold,  his  companion,  was  a  man  himself, 
possessed  of  form  and  features  which  classed 
him  among  the  handsome  men  of  his  day. 
Straight  as  an  arrow,  a  soldier  in  all  his  bear- 
ing ;  modest,  almost  to  timidity  ;  a  born  lead- 
er of  men,  and  with  an  estimate  of  woman 
which  took  its  richest  coloring  from  the  al- 
most idolatrous  love  he  bore  his  only  sister 
and  widowed  mother ;  he  was  not  a  man  to 
confuse  a  transient  fancy  with  the  passion  of 
a  life,  and  never,  till  a  year  before,  when 
sickness  had  brought  him  home,  and,  amidst 
his  wanderings  among  the  mountains  seeking 
to  hasten  a  lagging  convalescence,  the  path- 
way of  pretty  Kitty  Wilmerding  crossed  his 
own,  had  he  known  the  potent  charm  which 
lay  within  the  hollow  of  a  woman's  hand,  or 
the  glad  surprise  which  followed  in  the  foot- 
steps of  enthrallment.  But  Kitty  had  awak- 
ened him  out  of  his  dreamless  sleep,  how,  he 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  7 

never  could  understand,  any  more  than  many 
another  to  whom  the  revelation  of  an  absorb- 
ing passion  comes  quick  as  a  lightning  flash  ; 
its  work  accomplished  before  the  senses  have 
recovered  from  the  shock.  Certain  it  was, 
that  when  he  awakened,  one  bright  morning, 
he  made  a  discovery  which  turned  the  cur- 
rent of  his  thoughts  toward  a  distant  goal, 
hitherto  unknown  and  unsuspected. 

Hugh  Griswold  was  not  a  man  to  tempor- 
ize. If  there  was  a  duty  before  him  he  gave 
his  whole  energy  to  its  fulfilment ;  if  on  pleas- 
ure bent,  he  was  gay  as  the  rest — fertile  in 
device,  hearty  in  co-operation.  But  he  sud- 
denly found  himself  upon  a  strange  pathway 
— very  beautiful  were  its  surroundings,  in- 
deed, but  it  was  an  avenue  he  had  never 
trodden  ;  and  whither  would  it  lead  ?  "  That 
is  just  what  I  shall  find  out,"  was  his  mental 
resolve,  and  he  saw  no  reason  to  swerve,  any 
more  than  when  at  Fredericksburg,  his  bat- 
tery had  been  ordered  to  a  point  where  he 
kiiew  the  fight  would  be  hopeless  and  unequal. 
If  the  matter  now  in  hand  Vv^as  not  a  positive 
duty,  it  was  akin  to  it,  for  what  right  had  he, 


8  AN    IDYL  OF   WAR-TIMES. 

he  reasoned,  to  love  a  girl  and  she  be  none 
the  wiser  of  his  thought  of  her  ?  With  his 
strict  notions  of  right  and  wrong,  such  a 
course  would  be  insult  to  her.  He  could 
not  carry  about  with  him  in  his  heart,  the 
image  of  a  girl  who  had  given  hmi  no  patent 
of  hope  at  least,  and  beside,  it  was  unsatis- 
factory to  him,  and  so  in  his  straightforward 
way,  he  had  asked  Kitty  as  they  were  riding 
together  the  day  before  he  took  leave  of  the 
autumn-tinted  hills,  and  had  reined  in  to  ad- 
mire a  distant  feature  of  the  landscape, 
if  she  would  be  his  wife.  "  He  v/ould  ever," 
he  said,  "  associate  the  memories  of  this  visit 
with  her.  Could  he  not  carry  back  with  him 
the  /io/>e  at  least,  that  some  day  she  would  be 
to  him  more  than  a  memory?"  But  Kitty 
was  young  and  had  admirers  by  the  score, 
and  some  very  tender  words  Charlie  Blais- 
del  had  spoken  to  her  of  late,  chiming  in  as 
they  did  with  other  rhythmic  cadences  of  her 
happy  life,  made  her  loath  to  still  the  pleasant 
poetic  jingle  by  a  surrender  to  dull  realities; 
she  wanted  unbounded  space  to  breathe  in; 
the  world  for  a  playground,  (for  a  while,  at 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  9 

least),  and  then,  what  if  she  did  bestow  her- 
self upon  this  man,  and  the  fortunes  of  war 
took  him  from  her  forever,  and  she  were  left 
widowed,  even  before  her  wedding-day — oh! 
the  thought  of  it  was  too  horrible  to  bear, 
and  so,  not  to  cast  him  off,  not  to  kill  the  hope 
he  had  uttered,  or  within  herself  that  germ 
which,  because  of  her  sincere  respect  and 
liking  for  him,  she  knew  might  ripen  into 
all  that  he  could  ask  of  love  and  faithfulness, 
she  bade  him  wait,  and  he,  in  the  nobility  of 
his  soul,  recognized  the  trouble  of  her  spirit, 
and  pressed  her  no  more,  only,  upon  leaving 
her  the  following  day,  he  had  said  :  "  You 
bade  me  wait,  and  that  has  kindled  within 
me  the  gleam  of  hope  for  which  I  sought.  I 
have  much  to  thank  you  for  in  the  pleasure 
of  the  past  few  days.  I  shall  have  much  more, 
if  my  waiting  meet  with  its  coveted  reward." 

And  now  Hugh  has  returned  to  New  York 
for  a  couple  of  days,  before  starting  with  his 
battery  for  the  west,  and  meeting  Charlie 
Blaisdel,  they  had  dropped  in  at  Delmonico's 
to  dine  together. 

"  Of    course,    Hugh,    you'll    go     to    the 


lO  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

'  Charity  '  to-night — splendid  luck  getting 
here  in  time ;  it's  always  the  swell  thing 
of  the  season,  but  to-night,  they  say,  will 
eclipse  any  previous  efforts."  "  I  hardly 
think  so,"  answered  Griswold.  "  I  have  no 
ticket  and  to-morrow  I  have  much  to  do." 
"  Doesn't  matter,"  retorted  Blaisdel,  "  about 
the  ticket,  I'll  arrange  that,  and  you  must  go; 
why,  everybody  w411  be  there,  and  such  an 
array  of  beautiful  women.  Why,  man,  do  the 
gods  provide  such  feasts  for  such  as  we  to 
turn  our  backs  upon  ?  Of  course,  you'll 
go,  if  you  have  to  transact  your  business  to- 
morrow in  your  dress  suit."  '*  All  right, 
then,  I  suppose  I  must,"  answered  Griswold. 
"  I'll  straggle  in  some  time  during  the  night, 
but,  you  know,  dancing  is  not  much  in  my 
line."  "  Oh,  you  don't  have  to  dance  if  you 
don't  care  to,  the  boxes  hold  the  special  at- 
tractions, and  that  is  my  idea  of  bliss ;  a  blaze 
of  light ;  the  loveliest  music  in  the  world  ; 
and  a  corner  of  a  box  with  your  divinity. 
Ah  !  Hugh,  I  came  near  losing  all  that,  when 
that  confounded  bullet  made  its  round  my 
way."     "  You're  loved  of  women  more  than 


AN    IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  n 

of  the  gods,  Charlie,  1  suspect,  and  so  not 
predestined  to  an  early  grave,"  said  Hugh. 

Blaisdel  raised  his  glass  to  catch  the  sparkle 
of  the  amber-colored  liquid,  as  the  light  from  a 
chandelier  overhead  fell  into  it,  and  bowed  in 
mute  recognition  of  the  compliment.  ''  You 
know  I  do  not  go  back  to  the  field,  I  sup- 
pose," he  said,  presently. 

"No?  Well,  you've  paid  full  tribute  to 
Mars,  I  should  say,  with  your  record  and  that 
wound.  What  do  you  hope  to  do  with  your- 
self ?  "  asked  Griswold.  "  Take  to  the  law, 
I  suppose.  I've  broken  so  many  of  them 
myself  I  ought  to  be  a  good  pleader  for 
others."  "Gaining  your  clients  on  the  * ex- 
perto  crede '  principle,  I  presume,"  laughed 
Griswold. 

"  Perhaps  so,  if  ever  I  get  any,  but  I  shall 
not  be  dependent  upon  my  practice  for  my 
bread,"  said  Blaisdel ;  "  a  revered  uncle,  peace 
to  his  ashes,  probably  foresaw  my  necessities, 
and  provided  for  them,  but  something  I  must 
do ;  a  man  cannot  stay  at  home  in  these  times 
and  be  idle."  "I  should  fancy  not,"  said 
Griswold,    "still,  I   almost  envy    you   a  so- 


12  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

journ  in  New  York.  Look  where  you  will, 
New  Vork  is  always  in  the  lead."  "  Yes," 
answered  Blaisdel,  "  but  even  the  gayeties  of 
this  great  metropolis  pall  after  a  time,  and 
I'm  not  so  sure  but  that  the  man  to  whom  pleas- 
ure comes  only  in  the  intervals  of  hard  work 
is  not  the  happier.  Give  a  man  an  aim  in 
life,  stimulate  his  ambition  in  whatever  direc- 
tion you  like,  set  a  goal  for  him,  however  dis- 
tant, and  every  energy  of  his  being  becomes 
aroused — that  man  sees  every  phase  of  life, 
it  is  no  one-sided  picture  to  him,  it's  a  hard 
field  to  fight  and  conquer.  Very  many  do 
not  conquer,  you  may  say.  True,  but  they 
fall  in  the  full  rush  and  glory  of  the  charge, 
fall  while  the  blood  is  up,  and  they  are  filled 
with  a  noble  purpose.  Fate  may  be  against 
them,  but  for  such  men  there  is  the  Destiny  of 
immortality."  *  I  never  supposed  you  so  in- 
spired, Charlie,"  said  Griswold,  "  but  I  think 
you  are  right — the  only  serious  part  of  the 
business  seems  to  be  the  initial  step.  Im- 
primis,  then,  a  man  should  place  himself  upon 
the  most  solid  footing  of  respectability,  es- 
tablish a  base  of  supplies,  as  it  were,  for  cour- 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  13 

age,   advice,    sympathy,    and   that  calm    dis- 
criminating-  judgment  which   a  woman  pos- 
sesses so  pre-eminently  more  than  a  man — in 
fact,  a  man   should  find  an  ally,  or,    in   other 
words,    a   wife."     "To   be    sure,"   answered 
Blaisdel,  ''  that   is,    I    suppose   so,  but  it's  so 
confounded  risky."     *' Risky?"   interrogated 
Hugh,   over   whose    face   an    expression  of 
scorn  shot  for  an  instant.     "  Risky  for  whom, 
pray— did  you  happen  to  mean  for  the  woman, 
Charlie  ?     If  you  did,  I  say  Amen."     "  Well, 
that  was   not  the  idea  that  I  had  at  the  time 
I  spoke,"  retorted  Blaisdel ;  ''  possibly  she  zuas 
included  in  my  estimate    of  risk,  but  I  sup- 
pose   I    was    thinking  principally  of  myself, 
you  see,  Hugh—"  "  Oh,  yes,  I  see,"  interrupt- 
ed Griswold,  "  that  man   is   the  most   selfish 
brute  on  earth    in    matters  affecting  his  com- 
fort, his  convenience   and  his  liberties — few 
thoughts  he  ever  gives  to  the  woman  in  such 
cases,  except  as  to  what  he  requires  of  her ; 
money,  good    looks,  amiability,  obedience  to 
his  sovereign   will,  answering   all    questions, 
asking  none— risky!  I  should  say  it  was,  espe- 
cially in  these  times,  and   for   the    woman,  a 


14  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

thousanu  times  more  than  for  the  man." 
*'  Quixotic  nonsense,  all  of  that,"  replied 
Blaisdel,  emptying  his  glass  of  Cliquot,  and 
complaisantly  regarding  its  replenishment ; 
"  of  course,  marriage  is  a  woman's  natural 
ambition,  and  if  a  man  can  offer  her  an  honr 
orable  name,  a  comfortable  home,  good  so- 
ciety, what  more  can  she  desire  ?  "  "  She  can 
desire  a  great  deal  more,  Charlie,  but  she 
rarely  gets  it.  She  can  desire  companionship 
for  one  thing,  and  how  much  of  that  precious 
commodity  would  the  average  city  man  of 
to-day  be  willing  to  give,  how  many  nights 
would  he  be  willing  to  dock  from  his  club  or 
lodge  to  turn  over  to  her,  I  should  like  to 
ask;  courtship  stops  too  suddenly  to  my 
thinking ;  the  tenderness  fades  out  of  a  man's 
voice  too  often,  when  he  supplants  the  word 
sweetheart  with  that  of  wife,  and  that's  what 
kills.  To  my  notion,  a  woman's  worth  weighs 
considerably  over  sixteen  ounces  to  every 
pound  of  that  commodity  which  a  man  brings 
into  the  market.  Yes,  marriage  is  risky, 
risky  for  the  woman."  ''  My  dear  fellow," 
replied    Blaisdel,   a  smile   flitting  across  his 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  15 

features,  as  he  settled  himself  more  comfort- 
ably in  the  arm-chair,  and  took  a  leisurely 
survey  of  the  large,  brilliantly  lighted  room, 
and  of  the  pretty  women  it  contained,  "  the 
championship  of  woman  is  an  earnest  of  no- 
bility, and  heaven  forbid  that  the  name  of 
Blaisdel  should  ever  bear  the  taint  of  espou- 
sal of  the  cause  of  their  oppressors,  so  often 
though 

'The  light  that  lies  in  woman's  eyes 
Has  been  my  heart's  undoing,' — 

that  it  behoves  me  to  approach  with  some 
deliberation  and  respect  for  the  voice  of 
warning,  that  period  of  a  final  decision,  from 
which  there  is  no  retreat  possible.  Besides, 
a  calm  deliberation  dignifies  any  act  of  a 
man's  life,  and  what  should  be  embellished 
with  a  greater  dignity,  than  this  all  im- 
portant one  of  marriage.  A  man  wants  to  be 
sure  of  himself  and  her,  before  he  asks  a  wo- 
man to  take  up  the  burden  of  life  with  him; 
he  wants  to  be  certain  that  this  glamour 
which  surrounds  all  things  at  such  a  time 
will  last.  Ik  Marvel  expresses  it  beautifully: 
*  Damp  will  deaden  the  fire  of   a   cigar,  and, 


l6  AN    IDYL   OF   AVAR-TIMES. 

there  are  hellish  damps,  alas,    too  many,  that 
will  deaden  the  early  blazing  of  the  heart.'  " 

"  Charlie,  you  arc  a  dreamer,  and  I  believe 
you  will  go  on  dreaming  all  your  life,  pro- 
vided your  dreams  come  to  you  tinged  with 
the  ligfht  of  sentimentalitv — but,  life  has  more 
than  sentiment  in  its  offering,  and,  one  should 
bar  the  door  first,  against  want  and  hardship 
and  wrong,  and  sentiment  will  idle  in  on  the 
sunbeams  through  the  windovv^  panes ;  but  do 
you  know  what  time  it  is  ?  Eleven  o'clock, 
by  all  that's  good,  and  that  ball  still  before  us." 
"Plenty  of  time,"  said  Blaisdel,  ''take  some 
more  wine.  No?  So  be  it  then,  ours  be  the 
intoxication  which  lies  in  a  woman's  smile, 
and,  if  I  mistake  not,  you  will  be  very  drunken 
with  it  all  before  you  leave  the  'Academy,' 
to-night,  especially  if  Kitty  is  there,  as  I  hope 
she  will  be."  "  Kitty,"  said  Hugh,  "Kitty 
who?  That's  rather  an  indefinite  allusion 
to  a  fair  divinity."  "Why,  there's  but  one 
Kitty  in  the  world,  man,"  said  Blaisdel. 
"Wait  till  you  sec  Kitty  Wilmerding,  and,  if 
the  list  of  the  enslaved  is  not  greater  by  one,  all 
ray  hope  of  you,  Hugh,  will  perish  on  the  spot." 


AN    IDYL   or   WAR-TIMES.  17 

Hugh  Griswold  had  never  taken  any 
special  pains  to  mask  his  feelings — his  emo- 
tions, whether  of  joy  or  sorrow,  had  always 
quite  naturally  ranged  themselves  behind  the 
bulwark  of  a  quiet  dignity  of  manner  which 
was  his  by  inheritance  ;  rarely  was  he  as  out- 
spoken as  he  had  been  to-night.  People  were 
generally  with  him  free  of  their  own  viev/s 
of  life,  and  men  had  never  failed  in  according 
him  a  similar  prerogative.  An  impertinent 
curiosity  was  as  foreign  to  his  nature  as  a 
liberty  toward  himself  would  have  been  in- 
tolerable. Men  liked  him,  and  respected  him 
in  his  quiet,  undemonstrative  ways,  but  no 
one  dared  to  accept  the  risk  of  attempted 
familiarity;  there  was  a  light  in  his  eyes 
which  told  of  a  spirit  best  left  dormant.  It  is 
your  quiet  man  who  becomes  dangerous 
when  aroused.  Hugh  did  not  know  that  Kitty 
Wilmerding  was  in  the  city;  he  had  thought 
of  her  as  miles  away — far  off  among  the  hills 
of  New  England,  whither  he  would  gladly 
have  gone  to  her,  to  ask  if  the  period  of  his 
probation  had  passed,  but  time  was  wanting; 
he  had  run  on  to  New  York  only  for  a  couple 


l8  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

of  days  to  attend  to  some  pressing  business, 
and  must  return  at  once,  and,  Charlie  Blais- 
del's  announcement  that  she  was  in  the  city, 
while  it  gave  him  infinite  pleasure,  came  to 
him  in  a  way  he  did  not  exactly  like.  He  did 
not  like  to  hear  her  name  upon  Charlie  Blais- 
del's  flippant  tongue,  and  it  angered  him. 
"Miss  Wilmerding  in  New  York,"  he  said,  in 
slow  tones,  looking  straight  into  Blaisdel's 
eyes.  *'I  did  not  know  that  you  knew  her." 
"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Hugh  ?  "  exclaimed 
Blaisdel,  "you  look  as  though  you  had  seen 
a  ghost.  Of  course,  I  know  Kitty  Wilmer- 
ding, and  if  I  may  judge  from  appearances,  I 
should  say  that  her  existence  is  neither  a 
matter  of  news  or  indifference  to  youy  "In 
both  of  which  surmises  you  are  correct,"  re- 
plied Hugh,  and  not  willing  to  let  Blaisdel 
into  the  knowledge  of  his  very  great  interest 
in  the  young  lady,  he  added,  "and  I  congratu- 
late you  upon  j^our  own  apparent  intimacy 
w^ith  her."  "That's  not  the  word,  Hugh," 
said  Blaisdel,  ''that's  not  the  word  by  a  long 
shot.  I  don't  think  she  has  an  intimate  gentle- 
man friend  in   the  world,  though  there  are 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  19 

thousands  who  have  striven  hard  enough  for 
the  honor.  She  doesn't  seem  to  be  in  any 
hurry  to  relinquish  her  freedom,  I  can  assure 
you.  She  is  not  the  butterfly  to  be  caught 
(yet  at  least),  though  many  a  man  has  thrown 
his  net,"  and  then,  as  though  he  w^as  about  to 
utter  another  thought  he  caught  himself  and 
indulged  the  mental  reflection,  ''Can  Hugh 
Griswold  be  the  man  who  is  holding  her  in 
check?" 


CHAPTER  II. 

Who  has  ever  set  foot  within  that  temple  of 
the  muses,  **The  Academy  of  Music,"  without 
a  feeling  of  awe,  as  though  in  the  presence  of 
the  masters  whose  inspirations,  through  the 
interpretations  of  the  most  God-gifted  artists 
of  the  earth,  have  called  forth  the  plaudits  of 
wondering  millions  !  It  is  as  though  one  trod 
upon  hallowed  ground,  and,  lingering  upon 
the  air,  dulcet  memories  of  such  voices  as 
those  of  Grisi,  and  Mario  and  Jenny  Lind,  and 
La  Grange,  Parepa,  Tamberlik  and  Brignoli 
whisper  of  a  triumphant  past.  As  Griswold, 
late  in  the  evening,  stepped  into  the  auditor- 
ium the  scene  that  met  his  eye  was  one  of  ex- 
ceeding beauty.  All  that  art  could  accom- 
plish, with  flowers  and  costly  draperies,  with 
paintings  and  priceless  soul-pictures,  with 
bunting  and  burnished  arms,  with  tapestries 
and  silken  hangings,  with  light  and  softened 
radiance,  was  there  to  charm  the  sense  and 
soul.     In  the  boxes,   ranged  tier  upon  tier, 


AN    IDYL  OF   WAR-TIMES.  21 

women  looked  down  upon  the  scene  in  ani- 
mated conversation,  the  melody  of  many  a 
silvery  voice  falling-  in  grateful  accents  upon 
the  ear.  Here  v/as  the  flash  of  countless 
jewels,  the  rhythmic  miotion  of  a  thousand 
fans,  the  power  and  influence  of  music  ;  the 
subtle  incense  which  pervades  the  realm  of 
woman.  Amidst  all  these,  happiness  in  her 
speaking  eyes,  the  glory  of  her  lovely  woman- 
hood enwrapping  her  as  in  a  mantle,  sat  she, 
v/hom  in  all  the  earth  he  loved  the  best.  She 
was  speaking,  as  he  looked,  to  Blaisdel,  and 
evidently  his  latest  remark  had  come  to  her  in 
the  light  of  a  surprise,  not  a  disagreeable  one, 
either,  if  Hugh  interpreted  her  looks  aright, 
but  whether  he  was  the  subject  of  the  con- 
versation, of  course  he  could  not  tell.  He 
stood  and  looked  at  her  for  a  fevr  moments. 
There  was  a  pleasure  to  him  in  even  this  dis- 
tant view  of  the  woman  he  loved.  It  pleased 
him  to  see  the  look  of  happiness  upon  her 
face — the  light  of  an  innocent  soul  looking 
from  out  her  large,  blue  eyes — the  every 
graceful  movement  of  her  body,  rhythmic  like 
a  willow  in  the  swaying  of  a  gentle  breeze. 


22  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

Evidently  Blaisdel's  talk  was  pleasing  to  her, 
as  it  was  to  most  women,  when  he  had  the 
will  to  make  it  so,  and  Hugh  felt  a  pang  as 
near  akin  to  jealousy  as  he  had  ever  felt, 
while  he  looked. 

A  few  moments  later  he  knocked  at  the 
door  of  the  box  and  entered,  and  was  repaid 
instanter,  for  Kitty  had  risen  and  given  him 
her  hand  in  welcome. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Griswold,  what  a  charming  sur- 
prise. I  could  scarcely  credit  Mr.  Blaisdel 
when  he  told  me  you  would  be  here ;  I  had 
thought  of  you  as  far  away  somewhere  in  a 
horrid  tent,  undergoing  no  end  of  hardships." 
"  Thank  you  for  the  assurance  that  you  have 
thought  of  me  at  all.  Miss  Wilmerding,"  said 
Hugh ;  "  my  tent  would  contain  no  discom- 
forts could  I  know  that  you  followed  me  some- 
times there  in  your  thoughts."  "  Why,  of 
course,  what  more  can  we  women  do,  than 
think  of  our  absent  heroes,"  she  answered ; 
"  I  hope  you  have  come  to  stay  some  time, 
now  that  you  are  here."  "  Until  to-morrow," 
Hugh  replied  ;  "  but  in  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you  there  is  more  than  compensation  for  the 


AN    IDYL   OF  V/AR-TIMES.  23 

shortness  of  my  stay."  Blaisdel  had  turned 
and  engaged  one  of  the  other  ladies  in  con- 
versation, so  that  he  did  not  hear  when 
Kitty  remarked :  ''  Don't  pay  compliments, 
do  not  deteriorate  from  the  style  of  man  I 
knew  a  year  ago.  One  is  surfeited  with  com- 
pliments here."  ''  Need  there  have  been  an 
idle  compliment  in  my  words?"  said  Hugh. 
"A  year  ago  I  told  you  what  you  were  to  me, 
and  I  have  not  changed — is  there  any  need 
that  I  should,  Kitty? — have  I  no  right  to 
think  of  you  as  I  did  ? "  "  You  have  every 
right  to  think  of  me  as  kindly  as  you  will," 
she  said,  "  and  there  is  no  likelihood  of 
there  being  any  one  to  dispute  that  right." 
And  with  this  much  Hugh  was  constrained 
to  be  satisfied,  for  half  a  dozen  people 
crowded  into  the  box  at  this  moment,  and 
the  conversation  became  general  nor  did  he 
have  an  opportunity  of  an  uninterrupted 
talk  that  night,  only  in  bidding  her  good- 
bye some  time  later,  he  had  looked  down 
into  her  eyes  and  said :  "  Good-bj^e,  I  am 
happier  after  having  seen  you  again.  You 
will  follow  me  sometimes  in   your  thoughts, 


24  AN    IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES, 

will  you  not,  and  I  may  still  have  hope  to 
comfort  me  ?  "  "I  shall  think  of  you  often — 
pray  for  you — always — pray  that  the  future 
may  have  no  disappointments  in  store  for  you 
— or  for  me,"  she  answered  and  her  little  hand 
rested  for  an  instant,  passively  within  his 
own,  and  as  her  eyes  looked  up  at  him,  as 
through  a  mist,  his  heart  spoke  to  her  through 
the  mysterious  agency  of  a  gentle  pressure, 
and  he  was  gone. 


Moored  to  the  long  rickety  wharf  at  Belle 
Plains,  upon  the  Potomac  River,  one  of  a 
flotilla  of  craft  of  similar  construction,  the 
canal-boat  *'  &  Ru  Jaxn "  awaited  a  cargo. 
There  w^as  an  easy  grace  and  majestic  bearing 
withal  about  this  craft,  different  from  the  for- 
bidding lack  of  compromise  in  the  black  hulls 
and  straight  lines  of  her  sisters;  she  sat  upon 
the  placid  waters  imbued  wMth  some  sugges- 
tions of  a  thing  of  life,  her  bows  up-reared, 
breasting  the  stream  as  though  impatient  of 
testing  her  strength  against  some  cresting 
wave,  her  sheer  line,  long  and  graceful,  and 
her  projecting    ptcrn    overhanging   the    un- 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  25 

troubled  waters,  the  material  sequence  of 
some  happy  understanding  between  the  ship- 
wright and  his  workmen.  Proud  she  was, 
too,  in  the  matter  of  personal  adornment,  a 
broad,  white  stripe  relieving  the  darkness  of 
her  hull,  and,  in  golden  letters,  she  carried 
upon  her  stern-post  the  emblazonry  of  her 
historic  name.  What  mattered  it  if  that  name 
disclosed,  in  its  orthography,  departure  from 
the  tenets  of  an  established  school :  was  not 
the  name  itself  sufihcient  warrant  of  a  bold 
refusal  of  servile  imitation  and  adherence  to 
anterior  custom?  With  prescriptive  right 
she  looked  with  scorn  upon  the  feeble  efforts 
of  such  names  as  "  Dolly"  and  "  Alice  Jane  " 
and  "Phoebe  S."  and  others  of  the  ilk;  in  es- 
tablishing a  personality,  j/^^  boasted  of  a  name 
which  had  been  proudly  upon  the  lips  of  every 
born  American,  and  high  in  the  air  she 
flaunted  it  in  the  face  of  all  beholders.  Her 
captain,  a  staunch  old  New  England  sailor, 
had  long  since  deserted  the  stormy  seas,  and 
settled  quietly  aboard  the  ''&  Ru  Jaxn,"  content 
with  his  good-tempered,  worthy  wife,  to  pass 
his  remaining  days  amidst   scenes  of   a  less 


26  AN    lUYL   OF    WAR-TIMES. 

exciting  nature.  Captain  Jenkins  was  a  man 
too  wise  in  his  generation,  and  with  a  fund 
of  anecdote  and  personal  adventure,  which 
he  was  fond  of  sharing  with  an  attentive  audi- 
ence, under  the  mollifying  influences  of  a  pipe 
and  occasional  glass  of  grog.  And  now  the 
"&  Ru  Jaxn"  had  left  the  narrow  boundaries 
of  her  accustomed  routes,  and  her  owner, 
won  over  by  prospective  gain,  had  yielded  to 
the  requirements  of  a  pressing  governmental 
need,  and  swung  her  into  line  in  readiness 
for  a  new  and  hazardous  enterprise. 

There  was  a  motley  assemblage  of  craft  at 
Belle  Plains;  ferry-boats,  and  steam-barges, 
tugs  and  canal-boats  awaited  the  coming  of 
two  divisions  of  the  Ninth  Army  Corps, 
which,  by  special  request  of  their  old  com- 
mander, General  Burnside,  were  being  trans- 
ferred from  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  to  the 
West.  They  were  to  embark  at  Belle  Plains, 
rendezvous  and  equip  at  Newport  News  at 
the  mouth  of  the  James  River,  and  thence 
proceed  to  Baltimore,  en  route  to  their  destina- 
tion. Late  one  evening  of  early  Spring,  long 
lines  of  infantry  filed  along  down  the  winding, 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  27 

corduroy  road  to  the  river  bank;  batteries  of 
artillery  and  wagon  trains  went  into  park 
wherever  the  nature  of  the  ground  admitted, 
and  as  rapidly  as  possible  the  work  of  embar- 
kation was  accomplished.  The  "  &  Ru  Jaxn  '* 
and  three  sometime  liners  on  the  canal,  fitted 
for  the  reception  of  horses,  were  loaded  with 
the  animals  of  two  batteries,  and  as  the  tug 
steamed  out  into  the  stream  with  its  odd  tow, 
three  rousing  cheers  from  the  soldiers  bivou- 
acked upon  the  decks  bade  farewell  to  that 
grand  army,  which  escaped  from  the  jaws  of 
death,  lay  resting  from  their  heroic  but  in- 
effectual attempts  at  Fredericksburg.  To 
Captain  Griswold  had  been  assigned  this 
singular  section  of  an  odd  flotilla;  his  battery 
horses  had  been  loaded,  and  he  and  his  lieut- 
enant, Clarence  Olmstead,  were  to  be  pass- 
engers on  the  "  &  Ru  Jaxn,"  and  she,  bringing 
up  the  rear  of  the  procession,  would  give 
them  supervision  of  the  whole.  Griswold 
rather  looked  forward  with  pleasure  to  the 
trip;  there  would  be  the  charm  of  novelty 
about  it,  and  dullness,  with  Olmstead  aboard, 
would  be  impossible,  for  he  was  a  wild,   fun- 


28  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

loving  fellow  with  a  fertility  of  resource  in 
that  direction  never  found  wanting.  He,  too, 
was  genuinely  fond  of  Griswold  and  had 
studied  him  sufficiently  to  know  when  "Old 
Hugh,"  as  he  styled  him,  wanted  to  be  left  to 
his  own  thoughts,  and  so  the  two  got  on 
splendidly  together.  But  Hugh's  anticipa- 
tion of  a  quiet  time,  a  time  for  thought,  and 
the  maturing  of  some  half-formed  plans  for 
the  future,  were  destined  to  disappointment. 
He  had  gone  below  into  the  little  cabin, 
over  which  Mrs.  Jenkins,  as  tutelar  deity  of 
the  craft  presided,  and  had  received  froni 
that  worthy  dame  the  assignment  of  his  berth 
which  he  was  making  comfortable  after  his 
own  fashion,  with  the  assistance  of  his  fac- 
totum, a  small,  red-headed  Irishman  who,  as 
a  striker,  had  no  superior,  and  few  equals. 
''It's  luxury  you'll  be  havin'  here,  Captcn," 
remarked  the  irrepressible  son  of  Erin,  "faith 
it's  loike  Noah's  Ark,  barrin'  the  absence  of 
some  of  the  animals."  "Hush,  Flynn,"  said 
Griswold,  "I  am  talking  to  Mrs.  Jenkins."  "I 
beg  pardin,  sor,  no  disrespect  to  yourself  or 
the  lady;  the   ark   was  surely  a  foine   place 


AN    IDYL   OF   V/AR-TIMES.  29 

and  Mistress  Noah  a  foine  woman,  though 
I'm  told  her  temper  was  tried  at  toimes." 
With  which  complimentary  remark  and 
characteristic  satisfaction  at  having  the  last 
word,  Flynn  disappeared  up  the  companion- 
way  to  the  deck. 

*'I  hope  we  are  not  incommoding  you,  Mrs. 
Jenkins,"  said  Griswold. 

"  Oh,  no,  sir;  not  in  the  least.  I'm  used  to 
having  the  cabin  crowded;  she  has  berths  for 
a  dozen,  you  see,  and  often  we  have  carried 
more — me  and  Israel  likes  company." 

"Naturally  enough,"  remarked  Hugh,  "it 
must  be  dull  work  upon  the  canal,  I  should 
say." 

"It  is  home  to  me  now^'  ansv/ered  the  good 
v/oman.  "I  could  not  bear  to  stay  alone  at 
the  old  place,  and  Israel  had  to  have  work. 
We  buried  our  only  child,  a  girl  of  fourteen, 
three  years  ago,  and  the  house  was  never  the 
same  to  cither  of  us  after  that.  It's  only  them 
as  has  lost  their  children  knows  how  dear 
they  was,"  and  a  fiood  of  tender  memories, 
a  sudden  home-coming  of  her  sense  of  sad 
bereavement  dimmed  the  old  lady's  eyes,  and 


30  AN    IDYL   OF    WAR-IIMES. 

as  she  removed  her  spectacles  and  wiped 
them,  she  said  : 

"You  have  no  family,  sir  ?  " 

"No — none,  Mrs.  Jenkins,  some  day,  per- 
haps, I  may  be  so  far  blessed,"  said  Hugh. 

"Aye,  I  see,  sir,  you  have  your  heart  on 
some  nice  girl,  no  doubt;  she  must  be  worry- 
ing for  you  these  sad  times." 

"It  would  make   me   ver}'   happy  to  think 

so,   Mrs.  Jenkins.     What  the  d !"   which 

abrupt  termination  to  Hugh's  outspoken 
thought  and  his  exclamation  of  surprise  was 
due  to  the  unceremonious  manner  of  Lieu- 
tenant Clarence  Olmstead's  entrance,  or 
rather  descent,  into  the  cabin. 

"Hoop-la  !  "  shouted  that  impetuous  young 
man,  as  he  sprang  down  the  steps,  touching 
them  but  once  in  his  flight;  "beg  pardon,  Mrs. 
Jenkins;  yours,  too,  Captain,  but  we're  msuch 
luck." 

"Out  with  it,  then,"  exclaimed  Hugh,  "but 
please  remember  that  I  am  in  a  way  respon- 
sible for  your  neck,  which  you  seem  to  care 
very  little  for,  judging  from  the  manner  of 
your  descent  of  those  steps;  now  what  is  it?  " 


AN   IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES.  31 

*'  Why  the  steamer  with  the  guns  has  just 
gone,  and  an  old  gentleman  with  his  two 
daughters,  who  had  hoped  to  go  to  Fortress 
Monroe  aboard  of  her,  are  left,  and  Captain 
Jenkins  has  just  agreed  to  take  them  down 
with  us,  if  you're  agreeable,  and  you  will  be 
of  course — they  seem  to  be  such  nice  people. 
He  has  something  to  do  with  the  Christian 
Commission,  I  believe,  and  is  traveling  with 
his  daughters  through  the  army,  and  one  of 
them  is  fair  as  Aurora,  sweet  as  Dorothy 
Dean;  the  other,  dark  as  Nourmahal  and 
handsome  as  Psyche." 

"  Strange  place  for  ladies,  it  seems  to  me," 
replied  Hugh,  ''  but  that  is  their  affair ;  of 
course,  I  have  no  objection  if  they  think 
they  can  stand  it.  Go  on  deck  and  entertain 
them  Olmstead,  while  Mrs.  Jenkins  and  I 
consult  as  to  ways  and  means,"  and,  turning 
to  that  somewhat  astonished  matron,  Hugh 
explained  that  his  mess  chest  was  well  sup- 
plied, and  that  Flynn  was  a  capital  cook,  so 
no  doubt  they  should  get  along.  Shortly 
after,  Hugh  went  on  deck,  and  there  met  the 
kindly  old  gentleman,  his  face  fairly  beaming 


$2  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

with  benevolence,  and  his  daughters — they 
were,  indeed,  exceedingly  handsome  women, 
the  elder,  probably  twenty-five  years  of  age, 
tall,  graceful,  and  with  a  quiet  dignity  of 
manner  in  marked  contrast  with  the  buoyant 
spirits  of  her  sister,  whom  Olmstead  had 
monopolized  quite  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
who  seemed  to  look  upon  their  prospective 
voyage  as  no  end  of  fun. 

The  descent  of  the  river  was  not  to  be  be- 
gun till  morning.  The  oddly  freighted  tow 
had  pulled  out  into  the  stream  and  swung 
around  in  the  current  and  come  to  anchor, 
and  only  waited  the  morning  light  to  steam 
away  toward  its  destination.  The  nights 
were  chilly  yet,  and  the  party  early  adjourn- 
ed to  the  cabin  and  seated  around  on  lockers 
and  valises,  devoted  themselves  to  becoming 
better  acquainted.  Olmstead  contrived  to 
get  his  divinity  off  in  one  corner  and,  dis- 
dainful of  methods  of  regular  approach,  pro- 
ceeded to  storm  the  citadel  of  that  young  la- 
dy's heart  after  his  own  characteristic  fashion. 
To  Griswold,  the  old  gentleman  was  a  fascin- 
ation— the  story  of   his  connection   w^ith   the 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  33 

Christian  Commission  ;  the  scenes  of  tragedy 
and  pathos  to  which  he  had  been  witness  in 
camp  and  hospital ;  the  labors  of  his  col- 
leagues in  the  field  of  benevolence  and  amel- 
ioration of  the  sufferings  of  sick  and  wounded 
possessed  for  him  a  thrilling  interest,  and 
when  he  referred  with  pardonable  pride  to 
his  elder  daughter's  patient  watchfulness  and 
tender  nursing  within  the  wards  of  the 
Washington  hospitals,  there  rose  up  before 
Hugh's  mind  the  sweet  womanliness  of  that 
inspiration  of  Owen  Meredith's  La  Soeur 
Seraphine,  reproduced  in  the  lovely  woman 
at  his  side,  whose  dark  beauty  shed  a  radi- 
ance about  her: 

"  Like  the  light  upon  Autumn's  soft  shadowy  days." 

But  everybody  was  tired  out  and  glad  to 
go  to  rest  after  the  wearying  day,  and  Hugh 
and  Olmstead  soon  found  themselves  pacing 
the  deck  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  pipe,  while 
the  ladies  took  advantage  of  their  absence  to 
creep  into  their  berths,  and  give  themselves 
up  to  the  ''  god  of  dreams." 

A  gentle  breeze  swept   over  the  surface  of 


34  AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES. 

the  water,  throwing  the  tiny  reflections  of 
the  stars  into  the  mazes  of  a  merry  dance, 
while,  from  the  blazing  camp  fires  along  the 
shore  bright  gleams  shot  out  upon  the  tide, 
gilding  the  sides  of  the  transports  as  they 
swung  gently  at  anchor  in  the  moving 
stream.  There  were  but  few  tents  visible. 
Rolled  in  their  blankets,  the  weary  troops 
lay  down  with  no  other  covering  but  the 
canopy  of  heaven — the  soft  murmur  of  the 
wind,  the  musical  lapping  of  the  moving  tide, 
their  lullaby. 


CHAPTER  III. 

From  the  cabin  of  the  *'  &  Ru  Jaxn  "  a  door 
led  forward  into  the  kitchen,  the  special 
province  ol  good  Mrs.  Jenkins,  and  here,  be- 
fore that  worthy  woman  had  opened  her 
eyes,  Flynn  had  established  himself  among 
the  pots  and  pans  with  which  he  kept  up  a 
running  fire  of  conversation,  as  though  sud- 
denly brought  into  friendly  contact  with 
friends  of  a  by-gone  day. 

Nor  was  Flynn  the  only  early  riser  aboard 
this  stately  craft.  Lieutenant  Clarence  Olm- 
stead  had  impressed  upon  the  mind  of  Miss 
Marjorie  Hale  some  idea  of  the  extreme 
beauty  of  sunrise  upon  the  Potomac,  a  pic- 
ture to  which  his  rich  gift  of  imagination 
lent  a  coloring,  pardonable  possibly,  in  view 
of  the  result  which  he  hoped  for,  of  stimu- 
lating that  young  lady's  appetite  for  break- 
fast by  the  copious  drafts  of  fresh  morning 
air,  which  a  turn  or  two  of  the  deck  would 
insure,  and  so  he  had  said  ''Good  nioiht''  the 


3^  A\    IDYL   OF    WAR-TIMES. 

evening  before,  only  to  beinoan  the  fact,  that 
several  hours  must  elapse  before  he  could 
say  ''Good  viorniug!'  and  in  anticipation  of 
this  matutinal  greeting,  he  was  now  pacing 
the  deck,  hummiing  a  little  French  song, 
which  had  suggested  itself  to  his  impatient 
thoughts  as  appropriate  to  the  occasion  : 

"  Le  riclcan  de  ma  voisine  ; 
Se  souleve  lentemem, 
Elle  va,  je  L'  imagine, 
Prendre  I'air  un  moment." 

And  this  musical  reminder  of  her  promise 
coming  to  the  awakening  sense  of  the  young 
lady,  she  slipped  quietly  from  her  berth  and 
very  soon  stood  before  him,  as  sweet  and 
fresh  as  an  early  blossom  of  May.  **  Oh, 
Miss  Marjorie,  good  morning,"  said  01m- 
stead,  "  I  hope  you  have  slept  well.  The  sun 
lias  been  impatient  of  your  coming  and 
rushes  to  embrace  you."  "  He  is  quite  im- 
partial in  his  favors  though,"  answered  his 
companion,  "  but  I  am  grateful  for  those  he 
lavishes  on  me.  Oh !  how  lovely  this  i.^,  I 
must  call  my  sister  to  enjoy  it,  too."  "  Real- 
ly, I  would  not.  Miss  Marjorie,  I  am  sure  ihe 


AN    IDYL   OF   V/AR-TLMES.  37 

needs  rest.  She  appeared  quite  fagged  out 
la^t  night,  and  besides,  gratify  my  selfishness 
and  carry  the  remembrance  of  this  morning 
as  of  one  whose  beauties  I  invoked  for  youT 
**  And  are  your  invocations  always  so  happy 
of  result,  Mr.  Olmstead  ?  "  and  pretty  Mar- 
jorie  Hale  laughed  as  musically  as  a  song 
bird  in  its  greeting  to  the  day. 

**  Content  yourself  with  this  one  exhibition 
of  my  powers,  please.  One  should  never 
tempt  the  gods  too  far,"  said  Olmstead.  And 
indeed,  the  sight  was  beautiful,  and  Marjorie 
Hale  drank  it  all  in  with  a  pure  girlish  de- 
light. The  long  stretch  of  water  before  them 
shimmered  in  the  sunlight  like  a  surface  of 
frosted  gold  ;  the  tall  spars  of  sloops  and 
schooners,  as  they  rode  at  anchor,  cast  their 
shadows  far  astern.  The  decks  were  peopled 
vrith  busy  throngs  of  men ;  along  the  shore 
and  deep  within  the  density  of  the  woods, 
the  troops  Vv^ere  responding  to  the  bugle 
notes  which  roused  them  into  activity  ;  on  the 
air  were  the  faint  odors  of  the  morninof  m.eal, 
steaming  above  a  hundred  camp-fires;  voices 
in    morning   salutation    and  snatches  of  song 


38  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

routed  the  stillness  which  had  boded  over 
the  scene.  Far  down  the  river  in  a  graceful 
curve  the  waters  passed  from  view,  leaving 
upon  the  horizon  but  a  stretch  of  forest 
trees,  thei^-  gilded  tops  nodding  in  the  mov- 
ing winds  in  clear  reflection  against  the  dis- 
tant, cloudless  sky. 

A  moment  later,  Flynn,  the  irrepressible, 
well-schooled  as  to  human  needs,  and  with 
full  measure  of  that  national  characteristic 
which  esteems  the  service  of  a  woman  para- 
mount to  all  other  obligations,  appeared  com- 
ing up  the  companion-way  with  a  steaming 
hot  cup  of  coffee,  which  he  offered  to  Miss 
Marjorie,  remarking:  "  You'd  better  thry  this, 
Miss  ;  it's  a  panacaer  against  the  ills  of  the 
morning  air ;  its  tay  the  lieutenent  takes, 
and  he's  had  his  dra — cup,  I  mean,  already," 
and  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  as  he  looks  at 
Olmstead,  he  drops  down  again  amidst  the 
pots  and  pans.  But  Marjorie  is  none  the 
wiser  of  Olmstead's  matutinal  tipple,  which 
Flynn  had  so  nearly  disclosed,  and  she  only 
laughs  and  says :  '*  What  a  droll  fellow 
vour  servant  is,  Mr.  Olmstead  ;    he    must  be 


AN    IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  39 

an  unending  source  of  entertainment  to  you, 
but  it  was  very  kind  of  him  to  bring  me  this 
delicious  coffee." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Olmstead,  "  he  is  a  typical 
Irishman,  and  never  at  a  loss  for  a  word, 
though  he  handles  his  vocabulary  with  sur- 
prising recklessness  at  times.  You  will  find 
him  quite  your  devoted  slave.  Miss  Marjorie, 
as  we  will  all  be,  if  you  will  permit.  You 
have  but  to  command  to  be  obeyed." 

''How  very  nice  you  are,  indeed,"  answered 
the  young  girl,  as  she  sipped  her  coffee,  and, 
lookinsr  far  over  the  water  in  the  wake  of 
their  singular  procession  (for  they  were  mov- 
ing now  down  stream),  added :  "  Oh,  how 
happy  I  am  ;  how  beautiful  all  this  seems  !  " 

And  Olmstead,  watching  her  as  she  sat 
there,  the  delicate  glow  of  perfect  health 
upon  her  cheeks,  the  light  of  a  happy  content 
in  her  speaking  eyes,  one  dainty  little  hand 
lying  upon  the  rail  of  the  vessel,  a  pretty  little 
foot  peeping  from  beneath  her  gown,  and  seem- 
ingly keeping  time  to  the  rhythmic  cadence  of 
her  thoughts,  made  a  mental  resolve,  touch- 


40  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

ing  upon  a  very  important  factor,  in  the 
shaping  of  his  future  life. 

Meanwhile,  Captain  Jenkins  had  been 
busied  with  matters  connected  with  his  tow ; 
looking  to  the  adjustments  of  the  ropes,  the 
stowing  on  deck  of  the  fenders,  the  securing 
of  the  hatches  so  as  to  admit  light  and  air  to 
the  animals,  and  had,  finally,  ensconced  himself 
upon  a  stool  beside  the  tiller,  and,  here,  with 
his  pipe  in  active  operation,  he  presented  a 
picture  of  perfect  content,  and,  chiming  in 
with  Marjorie's  expression  of  delight  at  the 
peaceful  beauty  of  the  scene  outspread  before 
them,  emitted  dense  clouds  of  smoke  by  way 
of  preparation  and  preface  to  his  remark. 

''It's  pretty.  Miss,  enough,  but  it  lacks  the 
life — it  lacks  the  life."  ''  Why,  Captain  Jen- 
kins, how  can  you  say  that,  it  seems  full  of 
life  to  me,  and  of  beauty  too  ;  but  I  suppose 
you  miss  the  sea  with  all  its  dangers  and  ex- 
citements," said  ]\Iarjorie,  as  she  looked  back 
at  him  and  adjusted  a  refractory  curl  which 
had  escaped  from  beneath  her  broad  Gains- 
borough hat. 

"Yes,  yes,  Miss,  that's  it,  I  suppose.     It's 


AN   IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  41 

often  dull  aboard  a  craft  like  this,  and  we 
don't  often  have  a  blythe  young  lass  to  cheer 
us  up,"  and  the  old  sailor  puffed  vigorously 
at  his  pipe,  as  though  to  reward  himself  for 
having  said  just  the  right  thing.  "  Now, 
Captain  Jenkins,  if  you  are  going  to  turn 
flatterer,  too,"  and  she  flashed  with  her  bright 
blue  eyes  a  warning  signal  at  Olmstead,  who 
was  rather  impatient  of  this  disturbance  of 
his  tete-a-tete,  "  I  shall  think  I  have  not  a  true 
friend  on  board." 

"  Little  doubt  of  that,  Miss ;  there's  the 
lieutenant  there,  looks  as  though  he'd  cham- 
pion ye  and  bless  the  chance,"  and  with  a 
quiet  little  chuckle  this  observant  man  of  the 
sea  lashed  the  tiller  and  moved  away  to  the 
forward  part  of  the  boat  where  something 
seemed  to  need  his  attention. 

**  Mr.  Olmstead,"  said  Marjorie,  ''  do  men 
ever  grow  too  old  for  flattery  ? "  ''  Never, 
that  I  heard  of,"  laughed  Olmstead,  *Hhey 
recognize  the  fact,  that  it  is  an  essential  fea- 
ture to  some  women's  happiness ;  but  I  can 
scarcely  conceive  of  your  being  subject  to  its 
annoyance ;  what  would  be  subtle  flattery  to 


4*  AN    IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES. 

many  another  woman  would  be  but  simple 
truth  to  you." 

"  What  wondrous  powers  of  analysis  you 
have,  Mr.  Olmstead  ;  here,  you  have  known 
me  for  about  twelve  hours,  and  you  have 
assigned  me  an  established  character  already: 
thank  you,  sir;  but,  I  fear  you  will  find  me 
very  commonplace  and  human  before  our 
voyage  ends,"  laughed  the  young  lady,  w^ho 
secretly  hoped  she  was  not  doomed  to  dis- 
appointment in  the  handsome  fellow  before 
her,  for  Marjorie  Hale  hated  flattery  above 
all  things,  as  it  had  to  her  the  ring  of  insin- 
cerity which  she  could  not  tolerate  in  any 
human  being ;  her  very  soul  spoke  out 
through  her  great  blue  eyes,  and  she  was 
provokingly  pretty  and  attractive,  but  she 
was  a  remarkably  well-balanced  young  lady 
withal,  and  knew  the  sound  of  true  metal 
when  she  heard  it ;  but,  happily,  Olmstead's 
threatened  confession  was  averted  by  the 
appearance  of  the  rest  of  the  party  on  deck, 
and  a  few  moments  later,  Flynn's  announce- 
ment of  breakfast. 

There  was  one  thing,  which  Olmstead  never 


AN    IDYL   OF    WAR-TIMES.  43 

parted  from,  and  that  was  his  guitar.  Fortun- 
ately, the  facilities  for  transporting  it  were 
ample  in  his  battery,  and  many  a  weary  in- 
fantryman, as  he  trudged  along  with  the 
assignment  of  the  twentieth  part  of  a  mule  as 
transportation  for  such  of  his  belongings  as 
were  upon  his  person,  has  looked  with  par- 
donable envy  upon  the  good-sized  wagon 
rolling  by  with  every  battery,  disclosing 
evidences  of  prospective  comfort,  nay,  luxury, 
when  camp  should  be  reached.  Within  this 
wagon  Olmstead  had  always  carefully  stowed 
his  guitar-box,  and  many  a  night  his  skillful 
handling  of  it,  and  the  accompaniment  of  his 
fine  mellow,  tenor  voice,  had  made  those 
within  the  compass  of  its  tones  forget  their 
weariness  and  drop  off  to  a  sweet,  restful 
sleep,  peopled  with  the  voices  and  faces  of 
loved  ones  far  away. 

Hugh,  too,  would  possibly  have  been  guilty 
of  the  surreptitious  expenditure  of  certain 
stores  not  absolutely  essential,  rather  than 
have  left  Olmstcad's  guitar  behind,  consider- 
ing it,  as  he  had  often  told  that  hair-brained 
youth,  "  his  most  material  claim  to  rational 


44  AN    IDYL   OF    WAR-TIMES. 

ity,"  and  often,  when  he  was  weary  and  wor- 
ried, and  the  world  seemed  out  of  tune,  he 
had  dropped  down  on  Ohiistead's  bed  with 
the  simple  remark,  "  Play  something,  young- 
ster," and  would  close  his  eyes  and  listen, 
and  go  out  after  awhile,  comforted.  There 
was  nothing  of  the  romantic  in  Hugh  Gris- 
wold's  nature ;  but  there  was,  underlying 
his  quiet,  undemonstrative  way,  a  depth  of 
feeling  which  few  people  ever  suspected  ;  his 
sensibilities  were  singularly  acute;  life  and 
its  duties  and  its  pleasures  he  looked  upon 
as  obligations ;  but,  not  as  obligations  to  be 
fulfilled  in  a  scornful  or  careless  manner.  To 
him  there  was  beneath  the  outer  covering  of 
most  things  something  beyond  sight  or  touch; 
beauties,  whether  of  soul  or  sense,  which  it 
was  the  duty  of  life  to  discover,  not  only  to 
one's  self,  but  to  others  ;  harmonies  to  be 
evolved  out  of  the  seeming  discords  and  en- 
tanglements of  life's  perplexities.  Hugh  never 
seemed  conscious  of  the  unsightly  evidences 
of  ignorance  or  poverty  ;  his  eye  looked  back 
beyond  effect  to  cause ;  to  the  pathetic,  not 
the  repulsive  manifestations  of  what  he  es- 


AX    IDYL   OF  AVAR-TIMES.  45 

teemed  a  human  wrong.  He  was  no  idle 
dreamer,  however — no  visionary.  It  was  a 
manly  hand  with  which  he  grasped  the  im- 
plements for  his  life's  work ;  nothing  could 
swerve  him  when  duty  called,  and,  through 
example,  he  could  honestly  exact  a  following. 
Stern,  he  had  been  known  to  be,  but  with  no 
one  more  than  with  himself ;  yet,  in  many 
things,  he  had  the  delicate  instincts  and  man- 
ner of  a  woman.  Upon  the  battlefield,  men 
looked  to  him  as  to  a  pillar  of  strength,  and 
never  found  him  wanting  ;  and,  in  the  hos- 
pitals, his  coming  had  brightened  many  an 
eye,  and,  under  his  gentle  ministrations,  men 
past  help  had  given  him  a  grateful  look — they 
could  not  speak — and  closed  their  eyes  with 
resignation  when  their  friend  v/as  near. 

Breakfast  over,  everybody  acknowledged 
the  superior  attractions  of  the  deck,  except 
good  Mrs.  Jenkins,  and  she  and  Flynn  having 
established  a  very  friendly  understanding 
over  the  preparations  for  the  inorntng  meal, 
organized  themselves  into  a  committee  of 
ways  and  means  for  the  further  relief  for 
that  particular  portion  of  hungry  humanity, 


46  AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES. 

within  the  limited  sphere  of  their  little  world. 
The  others  paired  off  according  to  natural 
affinity  and  Marjorie  and  Olmstead  strolled 
about  in  an  absent  sort  of  way  till  the  others 
should  have  comfortably  settled  themselves, 
having  an  eye  to  their  own  subsequent  es- 
tablishment upon  the  basis  of  most  probable 
non-interruption.  Captain  Jenkins,  having 
secured  an  audience,  albeit  of  one,  fairly 
beamed  over  the  prospect  of  the  exercise  of 
his  conversational  powers.  Madelaine  Hale 
and  Hugh,  far  aft,  were  comfortably  enscon- 
ced upon  the  acceptable  substitute  for  a 
steamer  rug  which  a  Navajo  blanket  afforded 
and  Marjorie  and  Olmstead,  having  returned 
from  an  inspection  of  the  state  of  the  mens  bi- 
vouac and  a  peep  down  the  hatches  at  the 
surprised  and  indignant  horses,  dropped 
down,  a  short  time  later  on,  beside  the  roof 
over  the  companion-way.  Madelaine  Hale 
was  something  of  an  artist,  and  Hugh  had 
managed  to  rig  up  a  little  awning  for  her, 
under  which  she  was  sketching  the  distant 
river  banks,  the  broad,  beautiful  stream  and 
this  odd  flotilla  upon  its  bosom,  to  be  reserved 


AN    IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES.  47 

as  a  convincing  proof  to  any  unbeliever  to 
whom  she  might  at  some  future  day  disclose 
the  history  of  this  singular  voyage.  Hugh 
watched  her  as  she  worked,  watched  her 
sweet,  sad  face,  the  deft  handling  of  her 
pencil,  the  play  of  her  mobile  features  upon 
which  the  lights  and  shadows  as  they  fell 
told  something  of  her  thoughts  and  he  won- 
dered what  sorrow  had  come  to  her: 

"Had  the  pansies  withered  she  used  to  know; 
And  the  roses  faded — of  long  ago," 

and  he  thought  of  Balzac's  comparison  be- 
tween ripe  womanhood  and  Indian  summer, 
and,  applying  it  to  her,  seemed  to  see  how  the 
beautiful  buds  of  promise  and  of  hope,  bereft 
of  summer's  opening  breath,  had  caught 
within  their  enfoldings,  the  tints  which  are  the 
heralds  of  decay.  Intent  upon  her  work,  she 
was  not  conscious  of  Hugh's  scrutiny.  She 
appeared  enamored  of  the  task  before  her, 
only  at  times  in  the  intervals  of  the  comple- 
tion of  one  and  the  commencement  of  a  sec- 
ond feature  of  her  sketch,  she  would  lift  her 
eyes  for  an  instant  and  seem  to  be  looking  far 


48  AN   IDYL  OF   WAR-TIMES. 

away  over  the  water;  far  beyond  the  blue  out- 
line of  the  distant  hills  into  a  land,  a  creation 
of  her  own,  whither  none  might  follow  her, 
and,  then,  with  a  smile  at  Hugh,  would  ad- 
dress him  some  simple  remark  and  fall  to 
sketching  once  more. 

But  Hugh  was  content,  the  quiet  chimed 
in  very  acceptably  with  his  mood,  and  loung- 
ing here  upon  the  deck,  the  soft  warm  breeze 
speaking  of  quick  advancing  Spring  and 
bringing  into  grateful  life  all  things  upon 
which  had  lain  the  blight  of  wintry  weather; 
within  the  compass  of  that  atmosphere  which, 
in  a  distinct  but  subtle  way,  marks  a  lovely 
woman's  presence;  with  a  momentary  sense 
of  relief  from  care  or  the  necessity  of  action, 
his  own  thoughts  back  to  where  he  had  last 
seen,  in  all  her  girlish  charm,  the  woman 
within  whose  hand  lay  the  power  of  shaping 
the  course  of  his  future  journeyings,  he  was 
happy  as  diX\y  present  surroundings  could  have 
made  him.  But  he  and  his  companion  are 
suddenly  recalled  from  their  wanderings,  the 
pencil  falls  from  the  dainty  hand,  Hugh  re- 
moves his  pipe  from  between  his  lips  sending 


AN   IDYL  OF   WAR-TIMES.  49 

a  cloud  of  smoke  curling  away  over  the  stern 
of  the  vessel  and  both  of  them  listen.  For  upon 
the  air  in  perfect  harmony,  two  young  voices, 
low  and  sweet,  with  that  accompaniment 
which  speaks  of  southern  suns  and  flowers 
and  love,  break  upon  the  silence  in  sweet  and 
sad  refrain: 

"  Falling  leaf  and  fading  tree, 
Lines  of  white  in  a  sullen  sea. 
Shadows  rising  on  you  and  me. 
Shadows  rising  on  you  and  me," 

and  as  she  listens,  Madelaine  Hale  has  that  far 
away  look  again,  and  her  cheek  is  ashen  pale 
and  her  hands  are  pressed  upon  her  bosom, 
and  far  across  the  water  the  sad  words : 

"  What  are  we  waiting  for,  you  and  I, 
A  pleading  look,  a  stifled  cry. 
Good-bye,  forever  ;  good-bye,  forever, 
Good-bye;" 

fade  away  in  the  distance ;  the  song  is 
over,  and  she,  unable  to  bear  the  strain,  bur- 
ies her  face  in  her  hands  and  weeps  aloud. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

Hugh  Griswold  is  appalled.  There  was  a 
dimness  of  outline  in  the  things  he  himself 
looked  upon  due  to  the  suspicion  of  moisture 
within  his  own  eyes,  for  the  song  brought 
back  to  him,  as  though  it  had  been  yesterday, 
a  farewell  which  he  had  spoken,  but  not  for- 
ever ;  oh,  no.  Fate  had  nothing  so  cruel  in 
store  for  him.  But  Madelaine  !  To  her  the 
words  brought  back  a  flood  of  sad,  tender 
memories,  all  that  was  left  her  now.  He  saw 
it  all.  Death  had  robbed  that  trusting,  faithful 
heart  of  all  that  was  most  dear  to  it.  Poor 
girl — poor  girl,  he  thought,  I  see  now  the 
cause  of  all  her  sadness.  What  should  he 
do?  He  could  resist  a  charge;  could  stand 
up  against  the  brunt  of  battle,  but  a  woman 
in  tears  unnerved  him,  unmanned  him. 

'' Miss  Hale,"  he  said,  "for  heaven's  sake 
do  not  cry,  I'm  so  sorry  for  you  ;  will  you 
not  be  comforted.  Surely  this  world  has  yet 
much  in  store  for  vou." 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  51 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Captain  Griswold.  I 
have  no  right  to  bring  my  troubles  to  oth- 
ers," sobbed  the  fair  girl.  ''  It  only  comes 
back  to  me  so  cruelly.  Go  away,  please,  for 
a  little  while  and  do  not  let  t/ia;t  know," 
pointing  to  Marjorie  and  Olmstead,  who,  all 
unconscious  of  the  mischief  they  had  done, 
were  evidently  preparing  for  another  burst 
of  melody. 

Hugh  got  up  and  sauntered  to  where  the 
men  were  seated  about  in  groups,  playing 
cards,  smoking  and  telling  stories.  He  in- 
spected the  messes,  looked  in  at  the  horsse, 
and  then  stood  gazing  out  over  the  water 
and  watched  a  flock  of  ducks  fly  by,  swift 
and  straight  from  some  feeding  ground  ;  lis- 
tened to  the  soft  plash  of  the  water  upon  the 
bow^s;  to  the  labored  puffing  of  their  tug 
drawing  them  along  through  the  smooth 
waters,  away  from  their  winter's  cheerless 
camps  upon  the  Rappahannock ;  away  from 
comrades  in  that  grand  army,  which  un- 
daunted in  the  face  of  hardship  and  disas- 
ter proudly  unfurled  its  standards,  confident 
that  upon  their  eagles   would   fall  the   ulti- 


52  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

mate  crown  of  victory.  They  steamed  on 
past  the  long  wooded  stretches  of  the  bluffs 
and  low  lying  marsh — lands  and  bordering 
densities  of  primeval  forest  where  are  : 

"  The  murmuring  pines  and  the  hemlock, 
Bearded  with  moss  and  in  garments  green," 

rounded  a  bold  promontory  upreared  in 
jealous  guardianship  of  the  tryst  which  the 
river,  further  on,  is  keeping  with  the  sea; 
now  following  the  wavering  caprices  of  the 
stream  as  it  idles  in  the  shadows  of  the  land, 
or  darts  away  into  the  golden  sunshine  to 
greet  the  breezes,  which 

"  have  been  out  upon  the  deep  at  play." 

Lost  in  his  own  thoughts,  Hugh  stood 
some  time  oblivious  to  his  surroundings  till, 
at  last,  casting  his  eyes  toward  where  Made- 
laine  sat,  he  saw  her  at  her  work  again,  and, 
in  a  moment  more,  had  dropped  down  be- 
side her. 

"  Shall  you  probably  be  long  at  Fortress 
Munroc,  Miss  Hale?  '  he  asked. 

"  Hardly,  I  think,"  she  answered.  "  Papa 
can  scarcely  spare  much  time  from  home. 
He  brought  us  away  principally  that  I  might 
recruit  my  health,  which  has  suflered  some 


AN   IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES.  53 

from  the  confinement  of  the  hospitals." 

*'  But  you  will  not  return  to  them,  surely," 
Hugh  said,  "  it  is  a  lovely  sacrifice  certainly 
for  a  woman  to  make,  a  beautiful  devotion 
to  a  cause  which  appeals  to  all  the  noblest 
and  gentlest  impulses  of  her  nature — but 
you  owe  a  duty  to  3'ourself  and  to  those  to 
Avhom  you  are  near  and  dear.  However 
sweet  the  guerdon  be,  following  the  bestowal 
of  her  tender  oiifices,  a  woman,  adopting  the 
role  of  nurse,  should  be  very  certain  that 
she  has  not  higher  duties  in  another  sphere, 
and,  pardon  me,  I  believe  you  have." 

"  I  am  happiest  in  the  wards  of  the  hos- 
pitals. Captain  Griswold.  I  may  be  able  to 
do  more  for  others  than  could  be  done  for 
me,"  she  answered  ;  ''  this  war  has  brought 
to  me  the  legacy  of  sorrow  and  bereavement. 
If  I  can  spare  another,  through  care  and 
nursing,  the  misery  which  its  lack  has  sent 
to  me,  life  will  not  seem  all  in  vain." 

"  You  are  a  noble  woman,"  Hugh  an- 
swered, ''  happiness  will  come  back  to  you 
some  day.  It  is,  I  know,  waiting  now  at  the 
door  for  you  to  open." 


54  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

INIadelaine  had  laid  aside  her  sketch  and 
taken  up  a  book,  a  little  volume  of  poems, 
and  began  to  idly  turn  over  the  leaves.  The 
wind  was  freshening.  Tiny  flecks  of  foam, 
here  and  there,  like  daisies  in  the  meadow 
grasses,  accented  the  green  coloring  of  the 
waters ;  the  clouds  were  banking  in  the 
western  sky ;  on  the  shores,  the  tree-tops 
nodded,  and  the  forest  voices  were  astir 
upon  the  air.  Madelaine  said  she  would  go 
down  for  a  shawl,  and  passing  by  where 
Marjorie  and  Olmstead  sat,  discovered  the 
former,  well  protected  in  the  latter's  army 
cape,  while  the  latter  was  giving  her  an  in- 
sight into  things  military,  which  she  seemed 
very  much  to  enjoy.  "  Why,  Madelainel 
have  you  and  Captain  Griswold  been  dis- 
cussing state  secrets.  You  have  been  so 
quiet,  we  have  been  obliged  to  almost  whis- 
per, ourselves,  for  fear  of  disturbing  you." 

"  Nothing  very  serious,  Margie,"  replied 
her  sister.  "  Captain  Griswold  has  been 
giving  me  some  very  interesting  thoughts  of 
his  to  ponder  over.  I  am  going  now  for  a 
shawl,  it  is  getting  cold." 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  55 

"  Yes,"  said  Marjorie,  ''  and  Captain  Jen- 
kins has  been  looking  all  about  like  a  v/eath- 
er  prophet,  and  says  he  thinks  there  will 
be  rough  weather  on  the  bay.  Think  of  a 
cajta/ boat  in  3.  storm."  And  here  Captain 
Jenkins  himself  came  by  and,  hearing  the 
last  part  of  this  remark,  said  :  ''  Oh,  never 
fear,  we  will  not  venture  into  rough  Avater ; 
we'll  go  to  anchor  somewhere  till  the  blow 
is  over,"  which  quite  comforted  the  ladies 
who  had  no  relish  for  anything  more  agi- 
tating than  the  long  heaving  swells  which 
already  were  making  themselves  apparent. 
Hugh  concluded  to  leave  Madelaine  to  her 
book  and  to  write  some  letters.  He  knew 
he  should  be  busied  with  a  thousand  things 
when  they  reached  Newport  News,  and 
might  not  lind  time  and,  besides,  here,  he 
could  have  all  the  quiet  he  desired,  or  that 
was  necessary  for  the  framing  of  one  letter 
upon  which  he  had  been  thinking  a  good 
deal  of  late.  It  was  a  letter  to  Kitty  Wil- 
merding.  He  loved  her  and  she  knew  it. 
She  had  told  him  that  there  was  none  to 
question  his   right  to  think  of  her  as  he  did, 


56  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

and  yet  she  had  given  him  no  promise  that 
she  would  ever  be  other  than  a  friend  to 
him.  He  had  respected  her  appeal  to  him 
to  wait,  for  more  than  a  year  now,  and  he 
could  stand  it  no  longer.  If  there  was  any 
blow  to  his  hopes  in  store  for  him  it  had  bet- 
ter fall  now  than  later  on,  when  perhaps  his 
strength  to  bear  it  would  be  weakened  by 
the  daily  increasing  passion  that  he  felt  for 
her.  So  he  would  write  and  ask  her,  in  so 
many  words,  what  he  had  asked  her  once 
before  and  she  had  failed  to  answer, 

"Dear  Kitty  :"  he  wrote,  "  This  letter  will 
come  to  you  in  the  light  of  a  continuance  of 
an  interview,  short  and  unsatisfactory,  which 
chance  afforded  me  when,  a  few  days  since, 
I  was  in  New  York.  Had  I  known  of  your 
presence  there  before  the  very  night  of  the 
ball  at  the  '  Academy  of  Music,'  I  should 
have  sought  a  meeting  unembarrassed  by 
those  surroundings  which  assured  a  constant 
interruption,  for  I  had  much  to  say  to  you. 
When  I  left  you,  over  a  year  ago,  taking  with 
me  what  comfort  I  could  glean  from  your 
answer  to  my  asking  that  you  would  be  my 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  57 

wife,  it  seemed  to  me  as  though,  for  both  our 
sakes,  waiting  were  the  better  course,  and  I 
did  try  faithfully  to  carry  out  your  wishes 
in  the  matter.  But  many  months  have  passed 
since  then  and  waiting  is  weary  work,  es- 
pecially when  one  has  only  the  distractions 
of  danger  and  of  hardship  to  tide  over  the 
waiting  days.  You  are  surrounded  by 
friends,  pleasurable  excitements  and  admir- 
ers, and  I  rejoice  that  it  is  so.  I  begrudge 
you  none  of  them.  1  love  to  think  of  you  as 
happy  and  hedged  about  by  fostering  care 
and  that  on  your  pathway  fall  sweet  blos- 
soms as  you  pass.  I  love  to  think  of  you  as 
I  saw  you  last  upon  the  hills  overlooking 
that  pretty  New  England  village  where  I 
met  you  first,  the  autumn  tints  about  you,  a 
rich,  dark  setting  to  the  gentler  suggestion 
of  the  perfect  May.  But  cannot  you  con- 
ceive of  my  longing  for  something  more  than 
a  tender  thought  of  you;  my  longing  for  pos- 
session and  the  promise  that  will  insure  it  to 
me  later  on  ?  I  will  not  press  you  farther. 
You  know  full  well  that  every  ambition  of  my 
life  centres  in  the  hope  that  when  the  war  is 


58  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

over  you  will  be  the  gentle  companion  of 
my  life.  Kitty,  you  have  given  me  hope, 
give  me  more.  Tell  me  that  my  patient 
waiting  has  not  been  in  vain ;  let  me  feel  that 
life  has  in  store  for  me  something  beyond 
the  day's  allotted  task.  I  am  writing  upon 
the  deck  of  a  canal  boat,  one  of  four  which 
are  being  towed  to  Newport  News  with  the 
battery  horses.  With  us  is  a  Mr.  Hale,  a 
member  of  the  Christian  Commission  and, 
will  you  believe  it,  his  two  daughters,  lovely 
girls,  and  Olmstead,  of  whom  I  have  so  often 
spoken  to  you,  if  not  in  the  toils,  simulates  it 
to  perfection. 

We  had  hoped  to  reach  our  destination  to- 
morrow, but  there  is  every  indication  now 
of  an  enforced  delay,  as  the  wind  is  rising 
and  the  Chesapeake  will  most  probably  be 
in  too  great  a  state  of  commotion  for  a  canal 
boat  to  venture  out  with  safety,  so  we  shall 
probably  lie  by  and  here  will  come  the  diffi- 
cult problem  of  getting  water  to  the  horses, 
so  even  life  on  a  canal  boat  is  not  at  all  times 
one  of  indolence  and  ease.  I  shall  look  for 
your  reply  before  we  start  West,  and  Oh ! 


AN   IDYL  OF   WAR-TIMES.  59 

Kitty,  let  it  be  such  as  will  accord  to  me  the 
right  to  come  back  to  you  when  I  may,  in 
nearer  and  dearer  relationship  than  as 
Your  friend, 

Hugh  Griswold.** 

When  he  had  finished  his  writing,  Hugh 
put  the  letter  in  his  pocket,  ready  for  drop- 
ping into  the  mail  when  the  voyage  came  to 
an  end  and,  having  accomplished  that  which 
had  occupied  his  thoughts  for  many  days,  he 
lit  his  pipe  and  settled  himself  upon  deck  in 
an  easier,  more  contented  frame  of  mind  than 
he  had  known  since  the  night  when,  with 
music  and  light  and  incense  upon  the  air,  he 
had  turned  his  back  upon  the  bewildering 
fascinations  of  the  great  city. 

Very  shortly  after,  Flynn  again  came 
upon  the  scene  with  the  welcome  announce- 
ment of  dinner.  The  bracing  air  had  sharp- 
ened the  appetites  of  the  travelers,  and  they 
were  prepared  to  give  evidence  of  their  ap- 
preciation to  whatsoever  was  set  before 
them.  Flynn,  upon  this  occasion,  too,  dis- 
played accomplishments  which  had  evidently 
been  held  in  reserve  for  some  special  oppor- 


6o  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

tunity  of  expression,  like  the  present.  His 
hair,  which  had  hitherto  been  innocent  of  the 
faintest  suggestion  of  part,  now  fell  away  at 
either  side  of  a  conspicuous  line  of  separ- 
ation, which  acted  so  strongly  in  the  nature 
of  a  disguise  as  nearly  to  conceal  his  identity. 
With  the  assistance  of  Mrs.  Jenkins,  he  was 
resplendent  in  a  white  apron  of  curious  and 
original  design,  while  a  red  silk  handkerchief, 
which  encircled  his  neck,  lent  its  own  rich 
hue  toward  the  establishment  of  a  unique 
and  striking  personality.  But  Flynn's  metal 
was  up,  and  he  was  determined  that  **  The 
Captain"  should  have  a  glimpse  of  the  possi- 
bilities centering  in  his  person,  not  only  in 
matters  pertaining  to  dress,  but  in  the  cuis- 
ine, and  some  of  the  dishes  he  presented 
were  models  of  flavor  and  combination,  and 
the  ornamental  embellishments  of  a  fowl  with 
white  and  red  vegetable  roses,  which  he 
skilfully  carved,  proclaimed  him  an  artist  of 
no  mean  pretensions.  The  dinner  passed  off 
very  pleasantly  and  with  much  merriment  on 
the  part  of  Marjoric  and  Olmstead,  notwith- 
standing the  solemnity  with  which  the  magni- 


AN    IDYL   OF   V/AR-TLMES.  6l 

ficence  of  Flynn  was  supposed  to  invest  it,  but 
Marjorie  could  no  more  refrain  from  laugh- 
ing than  a  bird  can  from  singing,  and  the 
funny  things  of  life  never  escaped  her. 

Flynn,  indeed,  v/as  a  typical  striker,  a  m.an 
equal  to  any  emergenc3\  The  active  part- 
ner in  the  concern  of  which  Griswold  was 
the  head.  The  Army  striker  is  a  man  but 
little  knov/n  to  the  outside  v/orld  :  he  is  as 
different  from  ordinary  humanity  as  man  is 
different  from  his  Darwinian  prototype. 
Nationality  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  com- 
position of  a  striker.  He  is  ''  sui  generis," 
one  of  nature's  happy  thoughts  or  inspira- 
tions, an  indispensable  requisite,  to  every 
well-regulated  military  household.  There 
is  something  about  his  gait,  a  certain  expres- 
sion of  the  eye,  betokening  calm  under  all  con- 
ditions, and  a  disdain  of  mess-room  frivol- 
ties  which  marks  the  man,  as  the  predestined 
ruler  of  your  household,  second,  indeed,  in 
command  to  your  wife  (if  you  have  one), 
who,  by  virtue  of  inherent  right  and  natural 
tendency,  is  Jirst,  in  the  order  of  govern- 
ment.    This   man  is  the  moving  spirit  of  the 


62  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

establishment,  so  far  as  its  routine  goes.  He 
attends  to  your  lamps,  sees  that  the  supply 
of  oil  and  fuel  is  kept  up  ;  milks  your  cow 
and  consults  with  your  cook  as  to  items 
needed  from  the  Commissary  ;  sees  that  the 
prisoners  perform  their  allotted  tasks  of  split- 
ting your  wood,  emptying  your  refuse  bar- 
rels, and  policeing  your  yards  and  keeps  an 
eye  meanwhile  on  your  chicken  house,  to 
guard  against  their  yielding  to  temptation. 
This  is  the  being  whom  you  can  hear  from 
your  dining-room,  as  the  meal  progresses 
(especially  if  you  have  company),  talking 
low  to  your  cook,  giving  practical  evidence 
of  his  approval  of  her  talents  as  the  various 
courses  are  brought  out,  and  who,  between 
mouthful  and  remark,  nicks  a  plate  in  true 
soldier  fashion.  He  is  the  ever  patient  be- 
ing who  stands  ready  to  receive  unlimited 
invective,  when  prudence  suggests  the  in- 
appropriateness  of  an  in-door  explosion.  He 
guards  your  household  and  your  children,  if 
you  are  absent,  awaiting  your  return  oblivi- 
ous of  the  hour,  and  if  you  are  a  bachelor, 
often  unites  in  his  own  person,  the  qualities  of 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  63 

valet  and  of  chef.  He  is  a  long  suffering, 
patient,  ever  active  being,  without  either 
nerves  or  knowledge  of  fatigue,  who  guards 
your  interests  with  watch-dog  fidelity,  and 
for  whom,  from  the  nature  of  things,  you 
have  a  very  warm  place  in  your  heart. 

To  Marjorie,  Flynn  had  appeared  "  no 
end  of  fun,"  but  in  the  light  of  all  that  01m- 
stead  told  her,  of  his  fidelity  and  the  various 
functions  he  assumed,  she  came  to  regard 
him  as  a  veritable  prodigy ;  a  man  to  be 
looked  up  to,  as  possessing  qualities  of  a 
superior  order. 

**  Only  think,  Mr.  Olmstead,  if  he  were 
killed,  what  would  you  do?"  she  asked. 

*'  Take  an  inventory  of  my  effects  and  be- 
gin life  over  again,"  replied  Olmstead.  ''In- 
deed, it's  a  calamity  I  do  not  like  to  contem- 
plate." But  there  was  no  lingering  at  table, 
the  swells  from  the  bay  were  sensibly  affect- 
ing the  stability  of  their  craft,  and  the  close 
air  of  the  cabin  was  undesirable,  so  the 
ladies  concluded  to  have  their  coffee  on 
deck,  and  thither  the  whole  party  repaired. 
Before  them  and  around  them  the  white  caps, 


^4  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

"  Like  the  wings  of  sea  birds  " 

dotted  the  surface  of  the  water.  The  cloud 
bank  in  the  west  had  broken  into  disor- 
dered masses,  which  scudded  before  the  ris- 
ing winds ;  the  river  was  widening  in  its 
near  approach  to  the  bay  ;  far  distant,  a  tow- 
ering light-house  stood  out  against  the  sky  ; 
the  river  bluffs  had  dropped  behind,  and  low 
wooded  stretches  confine  the  waters  at 
either  hand.  In  the  bay  beyond,  huge  waves 
were  tumbling  together  in  wild  disorder,  a 
vessel  in  the  offing,  storm  tossed,  was  mak- 
ing for  anchorage  within  the  capes ;  in  the 
hold,  the  horses  were  giving  signs  of  dis- 
tress and  impatience,  but  the  discomfiture 
w^as  short-lived,  and  a  couple  of  hours  before 
dark  they  were  drawn  into  the  smooth 
waters  of  the  St.  Mary's  river  and  had  come 
to  anchor.  It  was  Saturday  afternoon,  and 
the  Captain  informed  Griswold  that  even  in 
the  event  of  the  wind's  subsidence  it  would 
not  bt  safe  to  venture  out  into  the  Chesa- 
peake before  Monday,  so  they  had  a  pros- 
pective delay  of  thirty-six  hours  at  least.  It 
was  well  enough  so  far  as  the  passengers 
were  concerned  ;  they  were  in  no  particular 


AN    IDYL   OF    WAR-TIMES.  65 

hurry ;  time  was  passing-  pleasantly  enough 
for  them,  and  Olmstead,  in  fact,  had  told 
Marjorie  not  long  before,  that  he  wished  it 
might  last  for  ever,  but  the  poor  horses  who 
had  no  water  since  starting  were  doubtless 
contrary-minded,  and  Hugh's  Jirst  thought 
was  of  them.  The  St.  Mary's  river  was  hardly 
more  than  a  good-sized  stream,  widening  at 
the  mouth  to  something  like  a  hundred 
yards,  forming  a  snug  harbor  for  the  small 
flotilla,  sheltering  it  from  the  wind  and 
waves,  a  *'  perfect  Sunday  harbor,"  Marjorie 
said. 

Standing  far  back  in  a  grove  of  beach  and 
cedars,  a  large  house  was  discernible,  though 
not  a  human  being  was  visible  till  Capt.  Jen- 
kins, with  a  voice  calculated  to  awaken  the 
echoes,  if  nothing  more,  shouted  a  far  reach- 
ing ''halloo,"  which  the  distance  had  scarcely 
swallov.-ed  up,  w^hen  an  answer  came  back  to 
them,  "  halloo-0-0,"  and  in  a  moment  more  a 
couple  of  negroes  stood  upon  the  sandy 
shore,  waving  their  tattered  hats  in  saluta- 
tion. Disappearing  for  an  instant,  they  soon 
reappeared  and  paddled  tovv'ard  the  tow,  in 


66  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

a  couple  of  "  dug-outs,"  somewhat  cautious- 
ly at  first,  for  the  sight  of  Yankee  soldiers 
was   to   a   degree  terrifying,  but   they  were 
soon  reassured   and   paddled    up   alongside. 
Hugh  explained  that  they  had  horses  aboard 
and  wished  to   get  water.     ''  Yes,    sah;   yes, 
sah;  plenty  watah,  sah  ;  wud  de  gemmens  go 
show,  see  de  priests,  day  five  or  six  ob  'em 
wen  dey  all  home,  lives  in  de  big  house  yon- 
der."   The  "  dug-out "  is  neither  a  capacious 
or  remarkably  stiff  craft,  and    its   manipula- 
tion  calls  for  the  exercise  of  skill   and  pru- 
dence, so  Griswold  and  Olmstead  cautiously 
seated  themselves,  one  in  the  stern   of  each 
boat,   and  were  paddled   ashore   by  the  ne- 
groes.    Approaching  the  house,  they  espied 
a  priest,  an   elderly,  handsome  man,  pacing 
up  and  down,  evidently  in  deep  meditation, 
but  the  moment  he  saw  his  visitors  his  face 
brightened,  and  approaching    them,    he  ex- 
tended   his   hand   and  bade  them    welcome. 
Turning,  he    led  them  into  the  house,  intro- 
ducing them  to    a    large  room  furnished    in 
mahogany    in  the   most  sumptuous  manner. 
Sofas    of  curious    carving,  inlaid    with    pre- 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  67 

cious  Avoods  and  even  metals ;  chairs  with 
carved  legs  of  animals  and  a  sideboard 
which  was  a  marvel  of  workmanship  of  the 
time  of  the  Renaissance  ;  the  front  seemed 
to  be  in  imitation  of  the  facade  of  a  cathe- 
dral, arranged  with  the  most  curious  draw- 
ers and  cabinsts,  an  article  of  furniture 
which  had  come  down  through  the  ages, 
priceless  in  value,  dark  and  mellow  with  the 
influences  of  time. 

Hugh  stated  the  business  which  had 
brought  them  to  shore,  and  their  affable 
host  placed  every  convenience  which  the 
place  could  boast  at  their  disposal  and,  as 
they  turned  to  leave,  with  thanks  for  his 
kindness,  he  approached  the  sideboard  and 
opening  a  cabinet  in  the  left  hand  side,  took 
therefrom  a  large  black  bottle  and  some 
glasses.  ''  This,"  he  said,  holding  the  bottle 
up,  "  is  never  empty.  The  key  of  this  cabi- 
net hangs  Aercy**  pointing  to  a  brass  hook  at 
one  side.  **  Help  yourselves  ?iow,  and  as 
often  as  3-ou  like  during  your  stay  ;  so  long 
as  you  remain — the  slender  resources  of  our 
house  are  at  3-our  service."    He  explained  to 


68  AN    IDVL   or   WAR-IIMES. 

them  that  there  were  a  number  of  them  hav- 
ing their  home  there,  that  it  was  the  head- 
quarters of  the  brotherhood  of  St.  Mary's 
County,  but  that  their  duties  kept  them  most 
of  the  time  from  home  ;  that  he  had  but  just 
returned  himself,  to  hold  mass  in  their  little 
chapel  on  the  morrow,  and  would  then  be 
off  again,  but  that  tlicy  were  to  make  them- 
selves at  home;  the  housekeeper  would  see 
that  they  wanted  nothing.  With  thanks  for 
his  kindness  and  the  promise  to  see  him  next 
morning  at  mass,  Hugh  and  Olmstead  set 
about  getting  water  to  the  barges.  With  the 
assistance  of  the  negroes,  they  formed  a 
good  sized  raft  by  lashing  four  dug-outs  to- 
gether, and  covering  them  with  boards  and 
}, 'lacing  a  couple  of  barrels  on  it,  which  they 
filled,  they  succeeded  in  relieving  the  fam- 
ished animals.  But  it  was  a  long  and  tedi- 
)us  task,  and  night  had  eflectuall}'  closed  in 
before  it  was  accomplished. 

The  wind  had  died  out  with  the  setting  of 
the  sun.  The  moon  was  riding  high  in  the 
heavens,  and  on  the  waters,  within  the  dark 
shelter  of  their  little  harbor,  the  star-beams 


AN   IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  69 

rested  like  firefly  lamps,  and  the  deep,  black 
shadows  of  the  tall  beeches,  following  the 
contour  of  the  shore ;  the  stillness  unbroken 
save  by  an  occasional  strain  of  vocal  music, 
from  a  negro's  cabin  deep  within  the  woods, 
or  the  cry  of  a  water-fowl  further  up  the 
stream ;  the  faint  gleam  of  a  light  from  be- 
tween the  shutter  of  some  window  in  the 
good  priest's  house  ;  the  puffing  of  a  steam- 
er, shooting  by  upon  the  water  of  the  broad 
Potomac ;  the  neighing  of  a  restless  animal 
in  the  hold,  stole  upon  the  senses  in  weird 
expression  of  the  reign  of  night. 

Long  the  party  sat  upon  the  deck.  Hard- 
ly a  word  was  spoken.  The  impressive 
beauty  and  peacefulness  of  the  scene,  the 
sense  of  security  from  the  perils  of  the  rest- 
less bay  beyond  ;  the  sweet,  welcome  calm 
which  had  settled  upon  the  earth  ;  the  low, 
soft  murmurs  upon  the  evening  air  ;  stirred 
within  the  heart  of  each  one  of  them,  some 
tender  memory,  or,  in  quiet,  self-communing 
they  invoked  fruition  of  a  treasured  hope. 
But  the  shadows  along  the  shore  were  deep- 
ening ;  the    moon  was  falling  lower  and  pre- 


76  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

sently  would  sink  to  rest,  far  beyond  the 
fringe  of  timber,  out  among  the  cresting 
waves.  Within  the  priest's  house  but  a  sin- 
gle window  let  out  a  beam  of  light  upon  the 
night ;  the  good  man  was  perhaps  deep  in 
meditation  or  in  prayer.  Softly  Olmstead 
slipped  down  into  the  cabin,  reappearing 
wuth  his  guitar,  and  presently,  upon  the  air, 
there  stole  the  sounds  of  music.  Sweetly 
over  the  waters,  on  through  the  thickening 
gloom,  faintly  echoed  from  the  distant 
reaches  of  the  woods,  chiming  in,  perhaps, 
wuth  the  good  man's  own  thoughts  or  mut- 
tered prayer,  came  the  sound  of  that  sweet 
invocation  to  the  Virgin : 

"Holy  mother,  guide  his  footsteps,  guide  them  at  a 
moment,  guide  them  at  a  moment  sure." 

And  e'er  the  song  is  o'er  the  shutters  are 
thrown  wide  and  reveal  the  occupant  of  the 
room,  his  white  hair  streaming,  his  bowed 
head  glorified  in  the  flood  of  golden  light  and, 
as  the  last  notes  die  away,  he  extends  his 
hands  toward  the  little  bay,  and  in  a  deep, 
rich  voice  sends  to  the  singers  his  blessing 
from  the  distance  :  "Benedicite  !  Amen,"  and 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  71 

quietly,  as  the  shutters  close  upon  him  again, 
the  party  separates  and  night  draws  her  cur- 
tains closer  and  all  is  still. 

The  next  morning  the  travelers  were  up 
betimes  intent  upon  attending  early  mass,  to 
which  the  circumstances  surrounding  them 
lent  a  romantic  interest.  The  day  was  warm 
and  bright,  or  promised  to  be.  As  yet,  the 
horizon  disclosed  but  the  tints  of  dawn,  but 
the  air  was  balmy,  the  wind  had  completely 
died  away,  the  storm  had  passed  and  left  but 
faint  suggestions  of  its  stay. 

Upon  the  little  raft  the  party  reached  the 
shore  where  they  found  the  good  priest  wait- 
ing for  them,  and  under  his  guidance  they 
set  out  for  the  chapel.  Standing  upon  a 
gentle  rise  of  ground  beyond  the  fringe  of 
timber  which  almost  hid  the  home  of  the 
brotherhood,  looking  out  upon  the  long 
stretch  of  sand,  washed  by  both  the  waters 
of  the  river  and  the  bay,  embowered  within 
the  cool  shade  of  a  clump  of  cedars,  the  little 
building,  constructed  in  the  form  of  a  cross, 
stood  with  open  doors,  an  invitation  to  the 
weary  to  enter  in.     A  little  organ,  long  un- 


12  AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES. 

touched  the  priest  told  them  (for  the  war  had 
sadly  broken  in  upon  their  customs  and  form 
of  worship),  stood  at  the  far  end  of  the 
building  opposite  the  altar.  Madelaine  asked 
if  she  might  open  it  and  play,  ''  Our  party  is 
a  passable  quartette  and,  perhaps,  we  may 
revive  the  old-time  impressions  of  the  ser- 
vice." 

The  priest  was  enchanted  at  the  idea,  and 
very  soon  the  low,  plaintive  strains  of  the 
Voluntary,  a  selection  from  Chopin,  fell  upon 
the  air,  drawing  the  worshippers  through 
the  mystic  influences  of  its  sweet  spell  nearer 
to  the  throne  of  God.  Lower  and  lower  the 
organ's  melodious  voice  spoke  out  the  ac- 
cents of  adoration,  then  died  away  and  left 
its  faintest  echoes  upon  the  ear  and  its  bene- 
diction of  peace  within  the  heart.  Seldom, 
even  in  its  day  of  greatest  glory,  had  the 
walls  of  the  little  chapel  echoed  the  accents 
of  sweeter  voices ;  never,  for  years  to  come, 
should  they  know  the  like  again.  *'This  day 
will  be  to  me  a  golden  memory,"  said  the 
priest  to  Marjorie,  "  later  on,  I  shall  hear 
your  voices,  even  when  you  are  far  away." 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  73 

Breakfast  was  enjoyed  at  the  priest's  house, 
the  table  being  laid  in  a  large  dining-room 
facing  upon  the  river,  a  room  wainscoted 
and  furnished  in  oak,  its  massive  appoint- 
ments speaking  of  a  day  long  gone  by — the 
imperishable  monuments  to  a  wealth  and 
glory  which  had  yielded  to  the  agencies  and 
exactions  of  relentless  war.  A  horse  and 
chaise  stood  at  the  porch,  and,  consigning 
his  visitors  to  the  care  of  the  old  woman  who 
acted  as  housekeeper,  the  venerable  man 
took  his  leave  shortly  after,  wishing  them 
"  God  speed "  upon  their  voyage,  and  a 
blessing  upon  their  after  journeyings  through 
life. 

It  was  still  early  in  the  day,  the  men  from 
the  barges  were  busy  watering  the  horses 
again,  and  Madelaine  and  Marjorie  wandered 
about  the  roomy  old  house,  admiring  its 
quaintly  carved  furniture,  its  pictures  and 
bric-a-brac ;  wondering  how  so  many  beauti- 
ful and  costly  things  had  found  their  way 
into  the  possession  of  a  band  of  priests  who, 
from  the  nature  of  their  roving  lives,  had 
little  time  to  enjoy  them.     But  that  mystery 


74  AN   IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES. 

was  never  solved.  The  old  housekeeper, 
though  kind  and  attentive,  was  as  a  sealed 
book  concerning  the  traditions  of  the  place 
or  its  occupants.  Seating  themselves  upon 
the  veranda  overlooking  the  river,  they 
looked  out  upon  the  moving  panorama  with 
a  fascinated  interest.  Several  steamers, 
loaded  with  troops  and  bands  of  music, 
passed  down  on  their  way  to  the  rendezvous; 
a  vessel  with  low,  rakish  smoke-stacks  and 
showing  some  threatening  guns,  seemed 
hovering  about  with  no  apparent  object  be- 
yond observation  ;  a  few  white  sails  out  upon 
the  bay  flapped  lazily  in  the  fitful  breeze. 
Nothing  could  induce  Mr.  Hale  and  Captain 
Jenkins  to  join  the  party  in  their  early  start 
from  the  boat ;  but,  now,  the  young  ladies 
spied  them  coming  ashore  on  the  raft,  Mr. 
Hale  not  over-confident  and  the  Captain  in 
evident  enjoyment  of  his  discomfiture.  "  A 
regu'lar  catamaran,"  he  called  out;  ''beats  any- 
thing I  have  seen  since  I  was  in  the  South 
seas."  "  Why  did  not  Mrs.  Jenkins  come 
ashore.  Captain  ?"  asked  Madelaine. 

"  Wal,  you  see.  Miss,  the  old  oomans  a  bit 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  75 

timid  like;  she  says  she  yielded  a  pint  in  step- 
ping aboard  the  '  &  Ru  Jaxn'  and  she'll  go  no 
further.  She  said  this  raft  might  do  on  a 
pinch  but  it  was  no  pleasure  boat,  so  she 
>taid  behind." 

**  Then  I  shall  go  back  and  stay  with  her," 
Madelaine  declared,  and  so  indeed  she  did, 
leaving  Marjorie  to  pilot  the  new  comers 
about  the  place.  But  Olmstead  had 
other  views  regarding  the  occupancy  of 
Marjorie's  time.  He  had  secured  a  small, 
flat-bottomed  skiff  from  a  negro  some  dis- 
tance up  stream,  and  soon  appeared  with  an 
invitation  for  that  young  person  to  accom- 
pany him  upon  a  voyage  of  discovery,  so 
these  two  started  off  and  were  soon  lost  to 
view.  To  the  men  aboard  the  barges,  this 
Sunday  was  a  day  of  feasting ;  the  negroes 
came  alongside  with  dug-outs  filled  with  de- 
licious oysters  which  they  piled  upon  the 
decks,  and  which  the  men,  seated  about  in 
groups,  enjoyed  to  their  heart's  content,  and 
these,  with  some  fine  fish  they  caught,  gave 
them  such  a  banquet  as  they  had  not  enjoyed 
for  many  a  day.     Madelaine,  upon   reaching 


76  AN    IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES. 

the  barge,  brought  Mrs.  Jenkins  upon  deck, 
and  as  she  sketched  the  little  harbor  and  its 
surroundings,  the  elder  woman  gleaned  much 
of  her  companion's  troubled  life  and  her  kind, 
motherly  heart  went  out  to  her,  as  though 
she  had  been  her  own,  and  to  Madelaine 
there  came  a  peace  beyond  anything  she  had 
known  for  many  a  weary  day,  and  she  won- 
dered afterward  if  what  Mrs.  Jenkins  had 
said  could  indeed  be  true.  "  You're  going 
to  mourn  so,  lassie,  there's  a  bright  day  com- 
ing, poor  thing,  and  may  be  not  far  off.  God 
seems  sometimes  far  away  when  he's  close 
at  hand."  And  the  two  women  sat  lonor  to- 
gether  in  silence.  To  them  both,  sorrow 
had  come  out  in  a  different  form.  To  one, 
the  song  of  life  was  nearly  ended.  The 
cadences  w^hich  fell  upon  her  ear  were  low 
and  distant ;  memories  chased  each  other 
down  through  the  vista  of  the  long  years 
past  and  now,  passed  on  hand  in  hand  with 
the  hopes  her  faith  had  given  her  toward  the 
end.  To  the  other,  there  had  been  a  sudden 
stop— a  rude  breaking  of  a  string  which 
stilled  for  the  moment  the  rhythmic  story  life 


AN    IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  77 

was  telling,  but  for  her,  the  goal  was  distant. 
Now,  she  was  walking  amidst  the  shadows  ; 
would  the  sunlight  ever  struggle  through  ? 
Olmstead,  having  secured  Marjorie  to 
himself,  bent  to  the  oars  till  a  curve  in  the 
stream  hid  them  from  view.  Then  he  took 
to  the  duties  of  his  position  more  leisurely,  and 
together  they  idled  along  through  the  wind- 
ings of  the  little  river,  stopping  now  and 
then  to  land,  while  Marjorie  gathered  a 
pretty  fern  or  some  rich  and  tempting 
mosses,  and  once  they  pulled  up  to  talk  to 
some  little  negro  boys  w^ho  were  fishing 
upon  the  bank,  and  w^hose  bright  faces  and 
laughing  eyes  effectively  dispelled  some 
of  the  gloomy  ideas  of  slave  life  which 
had  haunted  Marjorie  ever  since  she  had  en- 
tered this  southern  country.  But  their  Ar- 
cadian voyage  was  brought  to  an  untimely 
end  by  the  admonitory  signals  of  their  tug's 
whistle  and  the  cries  of  human  voices  and 
as  they  rounded  the  little  curve  which  dis- 
covered to  them  their  anchorage,  there  v\^as  a 
stir  and  bustle  aboard,  betokening  prepara- 
tion for  a  move.      Shooting  alongside,  they 


78  AN   IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

learned  that  the  Captain  had  concluded  to 
push  on — the  sea  had  calmed  down,  and  he 
would  make  a  night  run  of  it  to  Fortress  Mon- 
roe and  so,  everybody  being  collected,  the 
tow  strung  out  again  and  headed  for  the  bay. 
To  the  left  of  them,  as  they  quit  the  river, 
lay  Point  Lookout,  with  its  many  buildings 
and  tents,  the  site  of  a  large  hospital  over 
which  gracefully  floated  the  National  colors 
in  evidence  of  military  occupation,  and  in 
their  onward  course  the  features  of  the  land- 
scape faded  one  by  one  away,  and  look- 
ing back,  the  tree-tops  in  the  little  grove 
where  there  had  been  dispensed  to 
them  so  gracious  a  hospitality,  nodded  to 
them  as  though  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the 
good  priest's  words :  a  Godspeed  upon  thefr 
voyage. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  bright  morning  sunlight  was  scatter- 
ing the  mist  which,  like  a  ghost  had  settled 
upon  the  waters,  disclosing  the  outlines  of 
Fortress  Monroe  and  the  shadowy  forms  of 
vessels  lying  at  anchor  within  the  Roads,  as 
the  little  tug,  puffing  and  laboring  with  its 
heavy  burden,  steamed  along  towards  its 
destination. 

Upon  the  parapet  of  the  Fort,  groups, 
here  and  there  of  men  intent  upon  watching 
the  strange  incoming  assortment  of  craft, 
seemed  dim  and  distant,  and  many  a  glass 
was  leveled  at  the  travelers  aboard  the 
"  &  Ru  Jaxn,"  as  they  stood  out  on  deck  in 
enjoyment  of  the  scene.  Passing  near  the  long 
wharf,  activity  was  apparent  everywhere — 
boats  unloading  men  and  munitions  of  war  ; 
huge  piles  of  shot  and  shell ;  a  few  long, 
threatening-looking  guns,  lay  to  one  side 
with  gun  carriages  and  field  pieces — the 
thousand  and  one  articles  entering  into  the 


8o  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

impedimenta  of  an  army.  Sentries  paced 
here  and  there,  gangs  of  laborers,  a  babel  of 
voices,  an  officer  or  two  superintending  and 
giving  orders,  and  in  the  background,  the 
huge  fortress,  the  muzzles  of  innumerable 
guns  visible  in  the  embrasures ;  the  green  of 
its  slopes  in  soft  and  pleasing  contrast  with 
the  grey  of  the  stone  and  the  white  shining 
sands  at  its  base.  The  little  park  at  one  side 
was  neglected  and  deserted,  save  by  a  few 
birds  which  skipped  about  through  the 
branches  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  sunlight ; 
the  picturesque  effects  of  pretty  women  and 
uniformed  men,  had  passed  into  memory  ; 
the  cosy  seats  were  broken  or  in  decay — the 
only  voices  upon  the  air  were  laden  with 
the  deeper  tones  of  men — the  pleasant 
aspects  of  the  place  were  gone — pleasure  no 
longer  held  its  revel  there. 

Hugh  pointed  out  the  places  of  interest  to 
the  ladies  as  they  steamed  along — the  dis- 
tant rip-raps — the  scene  of  the  encounter 
between  the  huge  and  dreaded  Merrimac 
and  the  despised  Monitor — the  Norfolk 
Navy  Yard  far  over  the  waters  and,  as  they 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  8i 

looked,  the  little  steamer  ceased  its  strug- 
gles— the  swish  of  the  water  along  its  sides 
no  longer  told  the  story  of  its  progress  ;  be- 
fore them,  a  long  strip  of  white,  shining 
sand,  bordering  a  far-reaching  level  plain, 
proclaimed  their  journey's  end. 

**  Oh,  Mr.  Olmstead,"  exclaimed  Marjorie, 
*'  w^e  are  really  here.  I  am  so  sorry  ;  why  it 
has  been  a  perfect  dream  from  beginning  to 
end."    • 

**  Yes,"  said  Olmstead,  *'  and  will  yet  be  to 
me  for  many  a  day." 

They  were  standing  a  little  apart  from  the 
rest,  and  Olmstead  felt  as  though  the  end  of 
all  things  was  at  hand.  Impressionable  at  all 
times,  he  felt  himself  in  the  meshes  at  last ; 
he  saw  no  escape,  nor  would  he  have  wished 
any,  but  he  resolved  to  dream  his  sweet  dream 
so  long  as  he  might ;  if  there  was  to  be  an 
awakening  he  would  put  it  off  so  long  as 
he  could  and  Marjorie,  seemingly  uncon- 
scious of  all  save  the  novelty  of  the  situa- 
tion, the  busy  scene  before  her,  the  influences 
of  her  surroundings,  gave  thought  to  these 
things    alone;   the  present  held    enough   to 


82  AN    IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES. 

claim  her  attention,  she  had  no  need  to  bor- 
row of  the  future. 

Griswold's  camp  Avas  established  on  a 
pretty,  sloping  stretch  of  green,  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  back  from  the  river  bank  and 
between  two  knolls,  separating  it  from 
the  long  lines  of  tents  at  either  side, 
and  hiding  it  away  from  some  of  the  dis- 
agreeable features  of  a  large  encampment. 
Toward  its  establishment,  Hugh  and  01m- 
stead  had  been  busy  since  they  landed.  The 
ladies  had  stayed  aboard,  getting  together 
their  belongings  and  maturing  their  plans 
for  the  future,  but  Griswold  had  them  prom- 
ise to  stay  a  couple  of  days  in  camp  at  any 
rate,  and  having  plenty  of  canvas,  prepara- 
tions were  made  for  them  accordingly. 

Toward  evening,  they  strolled  over  to  the 
landing  again  to  assemble  their  party,  and 
say '' good-bye "  to  Captain  Jenkins  and  his 
wife,  and  take  a  last  look  at  the  craft,  upon 
which  they  had  passed  so  many  pleasant 
hours,  and  which  was  to  put  back  immedi- 
ately to  resume  its  inland  voyages.  There 
was  a   feeling   of  sadness   crept   into  every 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  S$ 

one's  heart  as  the  tinie  came  to  separate,  for 
they  had  received  much  kindness  at  the 
hands  of  the  plain  old  salt  and  his  good 
spouse,  and  there  seemed  no  likelihood  that 
they  should  ever  meet  again,  and  it  seemed 
like  the  beginning  of  the  end  of  an  agree- 
able experience,  each  one  of  them  would  long 
remember.  But  the  *' good-byes"  were 
spoken  at  last,  and  the  "&  Ru  Jaxn,"  with  her 
owners,  passed,  as  in  a  moving  panorama, 
from   view. 

Everything  which  the  scant  resources  at 
hand  admitted  of,  had  been  done  to  make  the 
camp  comfortable,  and  upon  the  tent  de- 
signed for  occupancy  b}^  the  young  ladies, 
Olmstead  had  expended  all  the  fertility  of 
his  genius. 

Immediately  after  supper,  which  Flynn 
had  prepared  for  them,  Mr.  Hale,  with  Gris- 
wold  and  Madelaine,  had  gone  over  to  hunt 
up  the  mail,  and  Olmstead  and  Marjorie 
strolled  about  the  camp,  looking  at  the 
horses  and  the  guns,  and  admiring  the  in- 
genuity with  which  the  men  were  making 
themselves  comfortable    in    their  new  quar- 


84  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

ters.  "  Are  you  not  glad  to  get  into  camp 
again,  Mr.  Olmstead?"  said  Marjoric.  "  And 
do  you  suppose  you  will  ever  get  things 
straightened  out?" 

"  Glad  ?  No.  I  cannot  say  that  I  am. 
Getting  into  camp  means  drill  and  hard 
work  again  and  besides,  you  had  no  avenue 
of  escape  w^hile  we  were  aboard  the  boat, 
and  720ZU  the  world  is  before  you  and  you 
will  be  leaving  us." 

"  Quite  naturally,"  said  Marjorie,  "though 
traveling  under  military  escort  is  simply 
fascinating,  and  I  should  love  to  prolong  it, 
but  that  seems  impossible.  Have  you  ever 
been  to  Fortress  Monroe,  Mr.  Olmstead  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  never  in  its  days  of  social 
glory,"  replied  Olmstead.  "  There  are  tradi- 
tions clinging  to  the  old  Fortress  and  its  sur- 
roundings that  would  fill  many  an  interest- 
ing page.  In  the  olden  times,  before  the 
war,  when  it  was  a  sort  of  border-land  be- 
tween the  north  and  south,  where  many  an 
army  man,  northern  born,  received  his  first 
impression  of  the  influences  a  tropical  sun 
exerted  upon    the  habits,  customs  and  man- 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  85 

ners  of  life  of  those  born  and  raised  beneath 
it :  where,  perhaps,  for  the  first  time,  he  came 
in  contact  with  a  social  condition  so  entirely 
different  from  anything  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  ;  where  the  self-reliance  of  one  sec- 
tion, met  the  dependence  of  another,  and  the 
fascinating  languorous  characteristics  of  the 
southern  women,  contrasted  with  the  ani- 
mated, impulsive  freshness  of  their  northern 
sisters  in  a  charming  and  effective  picture,  it 
probably  combined  more  features  of  attrac- 
tion than  any  other  point  on  the  American 
continent;  certainly  it  was  the  "Mecca  "of 
all  who  sought  a  middle  ground,  between  the 
extremes  of  climate." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Marjorie,  ''  I  have  always 
known  Fortress  Monroe  as  a  place  where 
*  the  season  '  never  ended,  the  termination  of 
one  was  but  the  commencement  of  another, 
but  what  is  it  like  now  ?  " 

"  Given  over  to  the  prosaic  entirely,  I 
fancy.  There  is  little  poetry  centering 
there  now,  except  that  of  its  traditions 
and  future  possibilities.  Whenever  a 
p^ace   becomes  a  base  of  military  supplies 


86  AX    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

or  Operations,  there  is  but  one  aspect  to 
its  character  ;  it  is  full  of  suggestions  of  tlie 
cruelties  and  barbarities  of  war.  But  ni}- 
latest  recollection  of  the  place  is  associated 
witli  a  little  hospital  experience  which  I  am 
not  likely  to  forget."  "  Do  you  mean  that  you 
were  ill  at  the  hospital?"  asked  Marjorie. 
"  Why,  yes,"  said  Olmstead,  ''  a  classmate 
and  I  lay  upon  adjoining  beds  for  three  days, 
without  recognizing  each  other.  We  both 
had  camp-fever  contracted  up  tJiat  river 
there,"  pointing  to  the  "  James,"  which  was 
on  their  right,  *'  but  we  were  just  fresh  from 
West  Point  and  couldn't  stand  much  then. 
The  worst  part  of  it  was  the  sound  of  shuf- 
fling feet  at  night,  as  they  carried  some  poor 
fellow  out  who  had  died — how  on  earth  does 
your  sister  stand  it,  Miss  Marjorie?  She  must 
see  all  kinds  of  sad  and  unnerving  sights." 
"  Really,  I  cannot  tell,  but  she  says  that  all 
she  thinks  of  is  how  she  can  relieve  suffering. 
If  she  sees  the  horrible  things  it  is  only  with 
ejxs  which  are  seeking  for  a  remedy.  I 
never  could  do  it ;  I  wish  I  were  more  like 
her ;  I  wish  I  were  good  for  something,  but 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  S7 

I  do  not  believe  that  I  am ;  not  in  such 
times  as  these,  at  any  rate." 

"  To  which  statement  1  enter  a  solemn  pro- 
test," answered  Olmstead,  ''  A  3'oung  lady 
who  can  win  the  heart  of  an  old  salt  like 
Captain  Jenkins  and  absolutely  subdue  the 
native  exuberance  of  that  savage,  Flynn, 
has  not  lived  in  vain." 

**  No,  the  discovery  that  one's  sphere  is  an 
humble  one  is  sufficient  compensation  for 
having  lived  at  all,  if  nothing  more,"  retorted 
Marjorie,  with  a  suspicion  of  asperity  in  her 
voice.  "  Oh,  you  will  make  me  quite  vain, 
Mr.  Olmstead.  Is  this  what  you  are  pleased 
to  call  subtle  flattery  ?  " 

*'  Flatter}^ !  no.  I  merely  wished  to  ex- 
press to  you  the  fact  that  j^ou  possess  the 
powder  of  humanizing  even  the  most  refrac- 
tory subjects.  I  should  call  that  a  merited 
compliment,  not  flattery." 

"  You  are  a  person  of  very  nice  distinc- 
tions at  any  rate,"  replied  Marjorie,  who 
really  had  become  very  fond  of  Olmstead, 
but  who  liked  to  invent  situations  for  the 
pleasure  it  afforded  her  of  witnessing  his 
methods  of  extricating  himself. 


88  AN    IDYL  OF   WAR-TIMES. 

"  I  do  not  think  it  requires  extraordinary 
discernment  to  discover  that  you  are  the 
loveliest  girl  in  all  the  world,  and,  Marjorie, 
virhy  should  I  not  tell  you  now  what  you 
must  know  already — that  I  love  you — I  have 
loved  you  all  along,  ever  since  that  first  night 
when  we  sang  together,  and  the  good  old 
priest,  standing  by  his  open  window,  ex- 
tended his  hands  and  sent  us  his  blessing, 
and,  do  3'ou  remember,  that  for  an  instant 
the  moonlight  struggled  through  the  trees 
and  rested  upon  us,  as  it  is  resting  now  ?  I 
prayed  then  that  it  might  be  a  happy  omen. 
Has  it  found  fruition,  Marjorie  ?" 

Standing  upon  the  riverbank  whither  they 
had  wandered,  Marjorie  looked  out  over  the 
waters.  Vessels  of  every  kind  were  riding 
there  at  anchor,  the  lanterns  in  the  rigging 
showing  plainer  and  plainer  as  the  moon  sank 
lower  to  her  rest ;  far  out  toward  the  sea 
stretched  a  broad  white  shimmering  line  of 
sandy  beach ;  upon  the  plain  behind  them, 
the  canvas  city  rested  peacefully,  gleaming 
in  the  fitful  light  of  its  thousand  camp-fires; 
the  **  God  of  Peace "   had  spead  his  wings 


AN  IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  89 

athwart  the  scene,  and  in  Marjorie's  heart 
there  awoke  an  answering  echo  to  Olmstead's 
spoken  prayer,  and  turning  toward  him  she 
gently  laid  her  head  upon  his  breast,  and,  as 
he  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  the  moon  yielded 
up  its  vigil  of  the  night  to  the  silent  stars, 
and 

**  Sank  o'er  the  ridge  of  the  world." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

After  Hugh  Griswold  had  left  the  ''  Acad- 
emy "  there  was  a  marked  change  in  the 
aspect  of  every  accessory  of  the  ball,  from 
Kitty  Wilmerding's  standpoint.  Before  she 
had  known  of  his  being  there,  before  she  had 
been  so  forcibly  brought  face  to  face  with 
the  happenings  of  a  year  ago,  and  Hugh's 
words — though  pleasant  to  her  ear  at  all 
times,  like  distant  echoes  of  a  bygone  day — 
had  suddenly  overleaped  the  barriers  of  time 
and  rung  out  again  with  all  the  force  of  their 
true  significance  ;  the  ball  had  seemed  to  her 
a  scene  of  fairy  enchantment.  The  music, 
the  embellishments  which  gave  setting  to 
the  graceful  beauty  with  which  the  scene 
was  peopled ;  that  mystic  splendor  with 
which  the  night  revealed  her  glories  to  the 
dying  day ;  the  subtle  sense  of  power  with 
which  she,  as  queen  of  her  coterie,  was  in- 
vested, had  exercised  the  spell  of  forgetful- 
ness  to  all  beside.      But  he  had   come  and 


AN   IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES.  91 

gone ;  his  manly  voice  had  spoken  her  name ; 
and  in  its  tones  were  the  accents  dear  to 
every  true  woman's  heart ;  and  now,  before 
her,  uprose  that  parting  scene,  when  he,  obed- 
ient  to  her  will,  had  gone  from  her  to  brave 
new  dangers,  taking  with  him  but  the  shad- 
owy substance  of  a  hope  which  she  had  but 
feebly  sanctioned.  About  her  was  the  same 
glittering  throng  ;  on  the  air,  the  sweet  music 
rose  and  fell  like  waves  upon  the  ocean,  in 
soft,  rhythmic,  undulating  measure,  but  to  her 
ear  it  was  as  the  roar  of  breakers  upon  a  rock- 
bound  shore.  The  words  which  gallant 
men  whispered  to  her,  the  laughter  rippling 
round,  had  lost  their  charm,  their  spell  was 
broken,  she  was  listening  for  a  note  which 
was  upon  the  air  no  longer,  and  the  rest  were 
out  of  tune.  When  at  last  she  was  alone 
within  the  security  of  her  own  chamber,  and 
iiad  divested  herself  of  ornament  and 
gown  and  gently  laid  aside  a  bunch  of  roses 
which  Hugh  had  brought  to  her,  and  seated 
herself  upon  the  rug  before  the  glowing  coals 
to  comb  out  her  golden  hair,  she  dreamed  the 
sweetest  dream  of  all  her  life. 


92  AN    IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES. 

"Dear  Hugh,"  she  muttered,  "and  I  let 
him  go  again  v.ithout  a  word,  and  I  love  him 
so."  And  the  night  wore  on,  the  coals  were 
dying  in  the  grate ;  the  first  beams  of  day 
were  creeping  in  through  the  the  parting  of 
her  curtain  ;  before  rousing  herself  from  her 
reverie,  she  crept  into  her  soft,  warm  bed, 
and  with  the  new-born  joy  in  her  heart,  for- 
got the  world  and  all  her  weariness. 

It  was  late  when  Kitty  awoke.  For  some 
time  she  lay,  turning  over  in  her  mind  the 
events  of  the  night  past ;  picking  up  the 
train  of  her  thought  where  she  had  dropped 
it,  when  sleep  had  overtaken  her.  Ming- 
ling with  the  outside  noises  of  the  city,  there 
seemed  to  come  to  her  distant  strains  of 
music,  the  tones  of  voices  confused  and  in- 
distinct ;  a  babel  of  sounds  which  sleep  had 
only  stilled  for  the  moment.  The  scenes  of 
the  ball  were  before  her  again ;  the  pano- 
rama of  glad  faces  and  bright  eyes  and  spark- 
ling jewels;  the  subtle  odors;  the  whispered 
compliment;  the  graceful  undulations  of  the 
dancers;  the  whole  witchery  and  bewilder, 
ment  of  the  scene ;  yet,  amidst  the  pleasures 


AN    IDYL   OF   V7AR-TIMES.  93 

of  the  momentary  retrospect ;  amidst  the 
intangible  memories  of  the  night's  impres- 
sions, there  came  to  her  inmost  consciousness 
the  revelation  of  her  heart's  faith  and 
yearning  love,  of  the  man  vvho  had  hon- 
ored her  above  all  other  women,  and 
from  out  of  the  shadow  of  her  irreso- 
lution and  uncertainty  there  came  at 
last,  struggling  into  the  light,  the  form  and 
substance  of  what  had  before  been  but 
vague  and  indistinct.  She  had  only  the 
bitterness  of  self-reproach  replying  to  her  self- 
questioning  of  why  she  had  sent  Hugh  awa}^ 
again,  without  the  promise  that  he  asked, 
and,  would  he  come  again  ?  she  kept  repeat- 
ing. It  seemed  all  so  strange  to  her,  this  feel- 
ing that  within  d?/^^  being  lay  the  power  to  make 
or  mar  her  happiness  forever ;  it  was  all  so 
sudden  of  discovery  that  she  was  almost  in- 
clined to  doubt  its  truth  ;  but  some  inward 
voice  kept  whispering  it  to  her  heart ;  the 
ticking  of  the  little  clock  upon  the  mantle 
kept  repeating  :  "  I  love  him,  I  love  him,  I 
love  him  ;"  it  seemed  as  though  at  times  she 
could   hear,  too,  her  own  name  spoken,  and 


94  AN    IDYL   OF    WAR-TIMES. 

that  the  speaker's  voice,  was  his.  Lightly 
she  sprang  out  of  bed,  and  peeping  between 
the  curtains  looked  out  upon  the  day.  The 
sun  was  high  above  the  tree-tops.  A  flood  of 
light  gilded  the  cornices  of  the  dwelling  oppo- 
site her  own  ;  the  vane  of  a  distant  church 
steeple  glistened  as  a  ball  of  fire  in  its  reflec- 
tion against  the  cloudless  sky  ;  people  were 
hurrying  to  and  fro  ;  a  long  line  of  school 
girls  at  regulation  pace,  went  calmly  by ;  the 
busy  hum  of  the  city's  life  smote  upon 
her  ear.  Turning  from  the  window,  she  began 
to  dress,  idling  through  the  task  in  a  dreamy 
fashion,  unlike  her  usual  self.  Standing  be- 
fore her  glass,  combing  out  the  heavy  braids 
of  golden  hair,  she  looked  at  her  reflection 
long  and  critically.  She  had  been  told  often 
enough  that  she  was  beautiful,  but  never  by 
him  did  he  deem  her  so ;  she  wondered. 
Poor  little  Kitty  !  how  suddenly  the  knowl- 
cdsre  of  her  own  heart  had  been  followed  bv 
an  attendant  train  of  speculations,  as  to  her 
own  claims  to  preference,  before  the  hundreds 
of  other  women,  to  whom  she  had  conceded 
charms  she  had  never  arrogated  to  herself. 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  95 

Life  had  ever  been  to  her  a  burst  of  glorious 
sunshine ;  she  had  been  too  busied  with  the 
beauty  of  all  things  surrounding  her  to  turn 
her  thoughts  back  upon  herself  ;  but  now  it 
was  all  different.  She  valued  the  loveliness 
which  spoke  to  her  out  of  her  mirror,  as  fit 
setting  to  the  life  which  she  was  ready  to 
place  within  her  lover's  keeping,  and  her 
long  scrutiny  seemed  happy  of  result,  for, 
as  she  turned  away,  her  face  was  all  alight 
with  a  sweet,  contented  smile,  as  though  her 
soul  stood  within  the  open  doorway  of  her 
eyes,  answering  back  the  questions  they  had 
asked.  Kitty's  was  not  the  beauty  of  a  girl 
city-born  and  bred,  nurtured  amidst  luxuri- 
ous surroundings  sheltered  from  every 
rude  blast  sweeping  by  ;  hidden  from  the 
warmth  of  sunlight;  blossoming  amidst 
night's  poisonous  counterfeits  of  day ;  the 
beauty  of  the  "  Calla  "  suffused  in  borrowed 
glory.  Hers  was  the  beauty  of  the  wild 
rose,  bestowing  its  fragrance  upon  the  hill- 
side; mingling  its  own  delicate  hues  with  the 
heavy  bloom  of  clover;  listening  to  the 
whisperings  of  the  meadow  brooks  ;  drinking 


96  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

in  the  freshness  of  the  wandering  winds  and 
the  dews  of  the  morning.  The  mountains 
were  home  to  her ;  she  knew  the  voices  of 
the  forest,  and  they  had  often  echoed  back 
her  own  ;  she  had  grown  up  famihar  with 
summer's  verdure  and  autumnal  dyes.  Often, 
as  a  girl,  she  had  climbed  the  mountain  side 
overshadowing  her  pretty  home,  and  sat  for 
hours  upon  some  mossy  rock,  or  lain  in  the 
grasses  sweet  with  heather,  looking  out  upon 
the  world  beyond,  whither  the  river,  far  be- 
low, was  trending ;  wondering  what  it  all  was 
like,  weaving  the  fancies  of  happy  girlhood, 
while  the  leaves  overhead,  rustled  soft  music 
in  the  breeze  which  tossed  her  hair  into 
waves  of  shimmering  gold,  and  bore  along 
the  seeds  which  sprung  to  roses  in  her  cheek. 
The  v\'orId  was  all  a  beautiful  playground 
to  her  imagining  ;  the  contrasts  of  weary  toil 
and  poverty  and  crime  were  sealed  books  to 
her  understanding  ;  the  waves  of  disappoint- 
ment and  despair  had  never  dashed  their 
strength  on  the  shimmering  sands  of  her 
Arcadian  shore  and,  as  girlhood  yielded  its 
faint    suggestions    to  the    developing    influ- 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  97 

ences  of  maturer  years  and  the  dreams  of 
yesterday,  became  memories  of  to-day,  there 
shone  through  her  eyes  a  sweet  and  gentle 
spirit,  innocent  of  the  shock  of  any  rude 
awakening. 

Her  toilet  completed  ;  her  form  enveloped 
in  the  soft  clinging  folds  of  a  pretty  wrap- 
per ;  her  hair  caught  with  a  dainty  ribbon 
and  falling  in  a  shower  of  curls  upon  her 
shoulders ,  a  single  half-opened  bud  of  a 
*'  Meteor  "  rose  nestling  on  her  bosom  ;  she 
drew  back  the  curtains  of  her  Avindow  and 
stood  looking  out  upon  the  street  below, 
when  a  gentle  knock  at  her  door  brought  her 
thoughts  back  from  their  wandering,  and  the 
next  instant,  her  sister  came  into  the  room. 

''  Good  morning,  dear;  why,  how  sweet  3^ou 
look !  one  would  hardly  suppose  you  had 
been  out  all  night;  come,  now,  and  have  some 
breakfast  and  tell  me  about  the  ball."  And 
Mrs.  Farnham  came  over  to  where  Kitty 
stood,  and  put  her  arm  about  her  and  drew 
her  toward  her  and  kissed  her,  as  she  always 
did,  upon  her  forehead.  "  Was  it  all  you 
loc  ked  for,  Kitty  ?" 


98  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

"  Oh,  it  was  lovely,"  answered  Kitty,  "  I 
could  never  have  fancied  anything  quite  so 
beautiful ;  but  I  was  glad  when  it  was  all 
over."  And  the  attentive  ears  of  her  sister 
detected  a  little  sigh,  rather  out  of  keeping 
with  Kitty's  accustomed  enthusiasm,  and, 
quick  to  take  alarm,  she  asked: 

'  What  is  it,  dearest,  are  you  tired  out  ?  or 
what  is  it  makes  you  sigh?"  and  she  looked 
into  her  sweet,  fathomless  eyes  and  thought 
she  detected  a  troubled  look  in  their  liquid 
depths ;  but  Kitty  smiled  and  said  that  she 
was  very  happy  ;  that  perhaps  she  was  a  little 
tired,  and  it  would  pass. 

But  Mrs.  Farnham  knew  her  sister  too 
well  to  be  deceived.  Something  had  hap- 
pened and  she  must  know  what  it  was.  Kitty 
was  intrusted  for  the  time,  to  her  keeping, 
and  she  loved  her  beyond  anything,  next  to 
her  own  children.  If  she  were  unhappy, 
she  would  try  to  help  her.  So  together  they 
went  to  the  pretty,  bright  breakfast-room, 
where  some  blazing  logs  were  throwing  a 
grateful  warmth  upon  the  air.  In  a  bay  win- 
dow, revelling  in  the  sunlight,  were  fuchsias 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  99 

and  geraniums,  and  a  plant  or  two  of  helio- 
trope and  hibiscus,  and   looking    down    upon 
it    all,  warbUng  his  matin  greeting,  a  canary 
swung  upon  a  perch  within  his  gilded   cage. 
It  w^as  as  cozy  a  little  room  as  heart  could 
desire    and    made    for   confidences.     Its   in- 
fluences   were     all    inspiring.      The    genial 
warmth  ;  the  shaded  light ;  the  soft  contrast- 
ing   colors;    the   subtle   perfume.     A   sweet 
nook  in  fairy  land  where  two  lovely  women 
might  pour  out   to  each  other  heart-secrets 
which  would   not  be  out  of   tune  with  their 
surroundings.      Whatever     it     may     be     m 
woman's    intuition    which    quickens  a  suspi- 
cion into  the  full  flower  of  conviction  in  mat- 
ters wherein  the  heart  is  affected ;  whether 
instinct,  or  drawn  from  education  or  experi- 
ence, or  the  outcome  of   some  subtle  com- 
munity of  womanly  thought ;  or  a  prescience, 
born  of  faint,  undefined  suggestions  of  man- 
ner or  of  speech ;  whether  the  recognition  of 
outward  sign,  or  an  inward  consciousness — 
the  secret  of  a  woman's  love,  guard  it  jeal- 
ously as  she  may,  will,  in  some   moment  of 
forgetfulness,  reveal  itself  and  to  Mr-s.  Farn- 


loo  AN    IDYL   OF    WAR-TIMES. 

ham,    the    revelation    of     Kitty's    new-born 
tenderness,  came  quick  and  sudden. 

Kitty  talked  incessantly  when  once  they 
had  seated  themselves,  describing  the  ball ; 
the  costumes ;  the  accessories  of  every  kind 
which  added  to  the  beauty  of  the  scene. 
She  spoke  of  Blaisdel  and  a  dozen  other 
men,  of  every  one,  in  fact,  but  Hugh,  trying, 
through  volubility  of  talk,  to  hide  the  real 
crowning  feature  of  the  night's  development, 
but  she  achieved  a  questionable  success.  She 
had  not  given  credit  to  her  sister  for  any 
depth  of  penetration  ;  still  Mrs.  Farnham  let 
her  talk  on,  knowing  full  well  that  in  due 
time  the  confession  would  be  made.  Later 
in  the  day  some  flowers  were  brought  to 
Kitty  with  Blaisdel's  card  and  a  penciled 
hope  that  she  '*  had  not  succumbed  to  the 
night's  exactions,"  and  while  they  brought 
licr  pleasure  as  everything  beautiful  did,  they 
iiad  no  meaning  to  her,  beyond  the  graceful 
expression  of  a  kindly  thought ;  she  vahicd 
the  bud  resting  upon  her  bosom  far  above 
them  all, albeit  iJicy  were  sweet  and  fresh  and 
iJiis  half  withered.     Kitty   was  hnppy  in  tlie 


AN    IDYL  or  WAR-TIMES.  loi 

thought  that  Hugh  loved  her ;  her  happiness 
had  come  to  her  gratefully  as  a  perfume 
sometimes  steals  upon  the  air  before  one  is 
conscious  that  the  flower  exhaling  it  is  near — 
sweetly  as  out  of  the  stillness  a  strain  of 
music  voices — soft  accompaniment  to  one's 
thought ;  but  a  feeling  came  with  it  all  which 
she  had  never  known  before,  an  undefined 
dread,  a  restlessness  she  could  not  control. 
Nothing  seemed  quite  the  same ;  a  voice 
seemed  calling  to  her  out  of  the  past;  the 
dream  of  her  hitherto  happy,  careless  spirit 
had  passed  into  the  awakening  of  reality  ; 
the  wings  of  her  fancy,  which  had  hitherto 
born  her  along,  heedless  of  the  way  she  took, 
now  seemed  guided  by  some  unseen  hand 
directing  her  toward  an  unknown  goal. 
'  The  days  passed  by,  one  following  the 
other  in  uneventful  procession.  Men  came 
and  went,  performed  their  little  graceful  acts 
of  devotion,  and  passed  by  again.  She 
walked  and  danced  and  skated,  but  in  a  per- 
functory sort  of  way— the  zest  v/as  wanting. 
She  felt  at  times  as  though  she  must  fly  away 
from  it  all— fly  back   to  her   beloved  hills. 


I02  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

TJu'ir  voices  were  ever  sweet  upon  her  ear; 
they  were  tangible  and  immutable,  not  vague 
and  transitory  as  were  the  things  entering 
into  the  city's  Ufe.  At  last  one  morning 
Hugh's  letter  came,  brought  into  the  room 
as  they  sat  at  breakfast,  and  Mr.  Farnham 
tossed  it  over  to  her  with  some  remark 
about :  *'  A  letter  from  the  front  for  Miss 
Wilmerding,"  and  as  Kitty  took  it  up  she 
felt  the  eyes  of  her  sister  upon  her  and  the 
warm  flush  upon  neck  and  brow,  which  made 
speech  unnecessary,  in  betrayal  of  her  secret. 
Without  a  word  she  read  her  letter  through. 
Mr.  Farnham  had  left  the  room  and  she  and 
her  sister  were  alone,  and  going  around  to 
where  her  sister  sat,  Kitty  placed  the  missive 
in  her  hand,  and  with  her  arm  about  her 
neck,  kissed  her,  as  she  said : 

"  Read  it,  dear ;  you  must  like  him  for  my 
sake,  for  he  is  to  be  my  husband." 

And  then  closing  the  door  gently  behind 
her,  she  found  in  her  own  room  that 
which  caters  to  a  woman's  need,  whether  in 
joy  or  in  sorrow — solitude  and  tears. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

The  next  day  was  a  busy  one  at  Newport 
News.  The  morning  light  which  forty-eight 
hours  before  had  crept  over  the  tree-tops  and 
lain  unbroken  upon  the  broad  level  stretch  of 
land  bordering  the  woods,  now  outlined  the 
shadows  of  the  tents  and  wagon  trains  and  of 
the  active  life  so  suddenly  settled  down  upon 
it ;  the  tapering  spars  of  vessels  lay  reflected 
in  long  dark  lines  upon  the  water ;  the 
reaches  of  the  far  off,  opposite  shore,  were 
low  and  indistinct,  but  within  the  limits  of 
the  camp  was  a  scene  of  boisterous  and  ag- 
gressive life.  To  the  ladies  of  the  party,  the 
camp  was  a  source  of  unfailing  interest — the 
workings  of  the  military  mechanism,  a  matter 
of  wonder,  and  to  Marjorie  it  was  altogether 
past  understanding,  how  men,  cooped  up  as 
they  were  within  the  limits  of  their  little 
tents,  gave  such  evidence  of  contentment, 
singing  and  chatting  with  an  animation  sug- 
gestive of  a  careless  happiness,  forgetful  of 


I04  AN    IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES. 

past  and  indifferent  to  prospective  hardships 
or  dangers.  Marjorie  and  Ohnstead  strolled 
about  the  place  taking  in  all  the  varied  scenes 
presenting  themselves,  wandered  over  to  the 
river  bank  and  through  the  booths  which  spec- 
ulative traders  had  erected  there,  loitered 
along  the  beach,  watching  the  vessels  at  an- 
chor or  others  moving  through  the  spark- 
ling waters ;  the  "  men  of  war,"  tugging  at 
their  cables  in  the  moving  tide ;  talking  of 
their  future,  as  they  listened  to  the  story  the 
rippling  waves  were  telling  to  the  sands. 

Later  in  the  day  Olmstead  contrived  to  find 
a  saddle  for  Marjorie  and  mounting  her  upon 
his  own  horse,  a  handsome  bay,  they  rode 
out  to  look  at  what  was  once  a  lovely  village 
nestling  amidst  shady  trees  whose  branches 
moved  in  the  soft  southern  breeze  which 
warmed  into  life  flowers  and  fruits  of  many  a 
liue  and  flavor,  and  invited  indulgence  in  that 
languorous  "  far  nicnte  "  existence,  which 
only  a  southron  knows: — Hampton,  a  pretty, 
peaceful  hamlet,  tlirough  avIiosc  shaded  streets 
fair  women  in  accessory  of  dainty  fabric  and 
sparkling  gems  were   wont  to  pass,  while  on 


AN   IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES.  105 

the  air,  the  soft  music  of  their  voices  lingered 
and  around  them  crowded  the  evidences  of  a 
careless  and  luxurious  life,  now  lying  a  mass 
of  charred  and  shapeless  ruins,  a  damning 
monument  to  the  rancorous  hatred  and  un- 
pardonable charlatanism  of  a  Confederate 
commander.  Scarcely  a  house  was  standing, 
only  a  few,  wretched  negro  hovels,  upreared 
amidst  the  ruin  which  lay  outspread  at  every 
hand.  It  was  a  sight  to  make  an  angel  weep 
and  wring  a  curse  from  every  feeling  heart, 
upon  the  desecrations  and  barbarities  of  war. 
Marjorie  sat  for  a  while  in  silence,  looking 
down  upon  the  ruins,  wondering  what  had 
become  of  all  those  who  had  been  driven 
away — shelterless,  homeless,  perhaps  friend- 
less ;  looked  down  upon  the  seamed  and  scar- 
red roadway  stretching  on  into  the  heart  of  the 
once  peaceful  and  beautiful  country,  which 
now  lay  shorn  of  everything  which  m.ade  it 
once  so  fair,  over  which  great  armies  had 
marched  and  the  din  of  battle  thundered, 
while  many  a  spirit  winged  its  flight  into  eter- 
nity and  many  a  waiting  woman  learned  that 


io6  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

the  footfall  for  which  she  listened  had  passed 
beyond  her  hearing. 

It  was  dark  before  they  found  their  way 
back  again  to  camp.  At  a  headquarters, 
near  by,  a  band  was  playing  an  inspiriting  air; 
groups  of  men  were  standing  about,  listening 
to  the  music,  smoking  and  chatting  gaily  ; 
the  lights  of  the  vessels  sparkled  upon  the 
waters,  a  gentle  breeze,  coming  from  the  sea, 
laden  with  odors  of  sea-grasses  and  bordering 
marsh-lands,  stirred  the  canvas  city  into 
shimmering,  wavy  undulations  while  the 
shadows  danced  in  weird  array  and  the  voices 
of  the  woods  beyond  joined  in  the  common 
revelry.  To  Madelaine,  the  change  of  scene, 
the  separation  from  contact  with  misery 
and  suffering — the  freedom  of  thought  and 
action — the  balmy  air  of  this  warmer  climate, 
were  already  producing  their  effect.  She 
\vas  more  buoyant  of  spirit,  the  color  was 
coming  back  again  into  her  cheeks,  her  eyes 
were  losing  that  fierce, unnatural  brilliance  of  a 
suffering  thing  which  had  so  touched  Hugh's 
compassion  ;  she  w^as  being  drawn,  through 
the  agency  of  her  surroundings  more  into 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  107 

the  current  of  the  lives  of  those  about  her. 
Between  Hugh  and  herself  had  grown,  in 
those  few  days,  a  friendship  in  which  each  re- 
cognized strengthening  influences,  and  in  his 
long  and  earnest  talks  Avith  her,  she  had 
found  material  for  a  more  hopeful  scheme  of 
life  than  ever  she  had  looked  for.  She  had 
entered  upon  the  work  to  which  she  had  of 
late  devoted  herself  in  the  frame  of  mind  of 
one  to  whom  all  earthly  joys  were  at  an  end 
— the  iron  of  a  bitter  disappointm^ent  had 
eaten  into  her  very  soul. 

The  thought  of  any  possible  change,  of 
time's  healing  power,  had  never  come  to  her 
— but  now,  loyal  as  she  was  to  her  beloved 
dead — treasured  as  was  the  one  memory 
which  haunted  her  in  her  waking  hours  and 
lay  upon  her  heart  during  the  long  dark  hours 
of  the  night,  fitful  gleams  of  light  fell  upon 
her  pathway — here  and  there  a  star  shot  its 
way  through  the  darkness  of  her  firmament, 
life  had  other  duties,  she  began  to  recognize, 
than  those  of  a  despairing  submission  to  a  cruel 
fate,  and  with  light  came  hope,  and  with  hope 
the  dawn  of  peace.     It  was  to  be  their  last 


io8  AxM    IDYL   OF    WAR-TIMES. 

night  in  camp  and  it  was  late  before  the  lights 
went  out  in  their  several  tents.  Marjorie  and 
Olmstead  had  been  busied  with  matters 
touching  their  own  future  interests,  but  they 
had  kept  their  secret  to  themselves  and  the 
stars  looked  down  upon  the  camp  that  night 
and  twinkled  merrily,  as  the  soft  winds  mur- 
mured a  lullaby,  and  to  the  happy  and  the  sad- 
hearted  alike  came  the  sweet  benison  of  sleep. 
Several  weeks  have  passed,  Captain  Gris- 
wold's  battery  has  long  since  lost  its  visitors; 
the  pleasant  time  of  recreation  has  giv^en 
place  to  the  stern  exactions  of  prosaic  duty 
and  Newport  News  is  again  the  scene  of 
active  embarkation.  Hugh  has  received  his 
anxiously  looked-for  letter  and  many  others 
have  come  to  emphasize  the  promise  Kitty 
Wilmerding  had  given,  and  Olmstead,  to 
whom  Hugh's  happiness  is  a  subject  of  re- 
joicing, has  not  been  forgotten.  Hugh  has 
asked  him  no  questions  but  quietly  drawn  his 
own  conclusions,  "  The  youngster  will  tell  me 
in  his  own  good  time,"  he  has  thought,  as  the 
mails  came  in,  and  side  by  side  with  his  own, 
was  a  delicate,  perfumed  missive   for   "the 


AN   IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  109 

boy  "  as  well.  A  large,  side-\v heeled  steamer 
has  been  devoted  to  his  battery  and  the 
horses  are  ranged  in  stalls  upon  the  decks, 
the  guns  occupying  the  inner  spaces.  The 
men  are  quartered  about  as  convenience  sug- 
gests and  they  steam  out  one  beautiful  morn- 
ing down  the  Roads,  skirting  the  long  stretch 
of  sand-beach,  and  plunge  into  the  deeper 
waters  of  the  Chesapeake ;  ho  !  for  Baltimore. 
Hugh  and  Olmstead  saw  little  of  each  other 
during  the  day.  Each  was  busy  getting  his 
belongings  together  for  the  longer  journey 
beyond  Baltimore,  which  would  probably  be 
a  timie  of  separation  from  their  trunks,  and  in 
writing  letters  to  drop  into  the  mail  when 
the  steamer  landed.  After  supper  they  sat 
together  on  the  forward  part  of  the  steamer's 
deck,  talking  over  the  events  of  the  past  few 
days,  speculating  a  little  upon  what  kind  of 
work  lay  before  them  and  often,  during  a 
silence  of  greater  or  less  extent,  wreathing 
fancies  or  dreaming  dreams,  as  the  smoke 
from  their  cigars  floated  out  in  fragrant 
clouds  to  mingle  with  the  odors  upon  the 
oceixn  air.     Between  these  two  men  a  very 


no  AN    IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES. 

warm  friendship  was  established.  Hugh, 
much  older  than  his  lieutenant,  a  man  who 
had  stood  the  buffetings  of  many  years  of 
service,  matured  in  thought,  of  a  quiet  dig- 
nity of  manner  and  yet  a  kindliness  of  speech 
and  action  which  invited  and  inspired  confi- 
dence while  it  repelled  familiarity,  stood  in 
"  loco  parentis  "  to  the  young  man  who  had 
only  left  his  "  Alma  Mater  **  a  year  or  two 
back,  but  who  gave  promise,  with  all  his  free, 
impetuous  ways,  of  a  future  development 
worthy  of  the  name  he  bore.  Olmstead  loved 
"Old  Hugh"  as  he  spoke  of,  but  never  fo 
him,  and  would  have  gone  far  to  serve  him 
and  farther  still  to  have  spared  him  trouble 
on  his  account,  or  disappointment.  He  looked 
up  to  him  as  a  man  who  had  weighed  most 
things  in  the  balances  and  knew  the  value  of 
them.  He  always  went  to  him  if  perplexed, 
certain  to  get  the  key  of  disentanglement  of 
his  troubles  from  his  friend  ;  he  had  seen  him 
under  too  many  circumstances  not  to  fully 
know  and  appreciate  the  true  metal  he  was 
made  of.  And  now,  as  they  sat  in  the  cool  eve- 
ning air ;  the  waters  around  them  brilliant  in 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  m 

the  rushes  of  phosphorescence  as  the  waves 
upreared  their  crests  and  then  broke  into  a 
thousand  foam-flecked,  disordered  masses  and 
spread  out  upon  the  sea  like  a  fall  of  white 
blossoms  upon  dark  g-reen  grasses ;  the  som- 
bre outline  of  the  distant  shore  a  bank  of 
gloom  upon  the  background  of  a  cloudless 
sky ;  a  shimmering  band  of  light,  far  reach- 
ing across  the  w^aters,  heaven's  dower,  upon 
the  "  silver  flashing  surges  "  of  the  deep  ;  the 
weird  unnatural  voices  from  out  the  night  as 
the  winds  swept  through  the  cordage;  the 
throbbing  of  the  engines  in  their  tireless  mono- 
tony, the  sweet  fresh  odors  released  by  the 
night  airs  from  the  land  and  born  to  them 
upon  the  breeze,  the  cry  of  the  look-out  break- 
ing in  upon  their  silence  as  a  light  flashed 
out  ahead  in  signal  of  some  other  vessel  speed- 
ing toward  them  upon  the  sea's  highway. 
Olmstead  broke  in  upon  the  current  of  Hugh's 
thought  with  the  rather  vague  statement : 

"  Captain,    I   can't    keep  it  any  longer — I 
want  to  tell  you  something." 

Hugh,  half  turning  his  chair  and  removing 
the  cigar  from  his  mouth,  blew  forth  a  dense 


112  AN    IDYL   OF    WAR-TIMES. 

cloud  of  smoke,  slowly,  as  though  giving 
Olmstead  time  to  recover  from  his  startling 
announcement  and  then  helped  that  young 
gentleman  through  the  embarrassing  first 
stages  of  his  confession,  by  the  remark : 

•'  My  dear  boy,  I  thought  you  did,  and  I 
wondered  how  you  kept  it  so  long." 

"  Why,  it  hasn't  been  very  long  since  it 
happened,"  replied  Olmstead,  wondering  how 
Hugh  knew  anything  about  what  he  was  go- 
ing to  say. 

"  Not  as  time  is  reckoned  in  ordinary  mat- 
ters I  admit,"  exasperatingly  answered  Hugh, 
"  but  do  you  know  you  have  shown  more 
pre-occupation  in  the  past  few  weeks,  than  in 
all  the  months  we  have  been  together  and  I 
have  suspected  it  all  along." 

"Suspected  it! — suspected  what f  cried 
Olmstead,  who  imagined  his  secret  beyond 
the  ken,  even  of  so  shrewd  an  observer  as 
Hugh. 

"  Why,  that  you  had  something  to  tell  me," 
said  Hugh;  "  you  have,  haven't  you  ?  3^ou 
said  so  just  now ;"  and  Hugh,  whose  first  im- 
pulse was  to  help  him  out,  thought  better  of 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  113 

it,  seeing,  as  he  did,  that  such  a  course  would 
be  disappointing. 

"  Why,  of  course  I  have,  and  something 
very  important,  to  me,  at  least,"  replied  01m- 
tead.     "  It's  about  Marjorie." 

"  Oh,  about  Marjorie,  is  it,"  answered  Hugh. 
"  A  lovely  girl,"  he  continued,  as  though  in 
soliloquy  "  and  her  sister,  poor  thing,  my 
heart  has  ached  for  her  ever  since " 

*'  Yes,  so  has  mine,"  interrupted  Olmstead, 
"  but  I  want  your  heart  to  rejoice  just  now  ;  I 
want  you  to  tell  me  that  Majorie  is  the  sweet- 
est girl  in  all  the  world  and  offer  me  your 
congratulations,  for  Marjorie  and  I  are  to  be 
married  some  day." 

Hugh  rarely  yielded  to  an  impulse,  but  he 
did  on  this  occasion  and  got  up  from  his  seat 
and  laid  his  hand  on  OlmiStead's  shoulder  and 
looking  down  into  the  younger  man's  up- 
turned face  said : 

''  With  all  my  heart,  boy — she  is  a  sweet 
girl  indeed  and  deserving  of  all  the  love  you 
can  lavish  on  her — may  God  spare  3'ou  to 
come  back  for  her.  Ever  since  I  have  sus- 
pected it,  I  have  felt  my  responsibility  of  you 


XI4  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

increase  a  thousand  fold,  but  if  we  only  do 
our  duty  in  life,  He  will  take  care  of  the  rest." 
And  Hugh  sauntered  off  and  looked  far  away 
across  the  waters  over  the  bow  of  the  boat 
and,  mingling  with  his  thoughts  of  Olmstcad 
and  Marjorie,  was  one  of  the  fond,  happy 
time,  coming  to  himself  as  well : 

"  Some  sweet  day 
Bye  and  bye," 

and  presently  coming  back  to  where  Olm- 
stead  sat  he  said  : 

"  Now  get  out  the  box,  3'oungster,  and  play 
something,  it  will  do  us  both  good,"  and,  as 
later  on,  the  sweet  strains  of  soft,  low  music 
fell  upon  the  air  and  the  pilot  up  above  from 
where  they  sat  lowered  his  window,  that  the 
monotony  of  his  watchfulness  might  be  brok- 
en by  some  other  sound  than  the  rattle  of  the 
steering  chain,  and  the  watchman  out  in  front, 
looked  back  for  an  instant  in  grateful  greet- 
ing of  the  melody,  Hugh  thought  he  under- 
stood more  perfectly,  how  the  tones  of  "  Fair- 
thorn's  "  flute  had  fallen  upon  unhappy  "  Guy 
Barrel's "  ear  and  softened  the  disappoint- 
ments of  liis  life. 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  115 

Some  ten    days    later  from  their  camp  at 

Lexington,  where  they  had  arrived  the  day 

before  and  settled  down  upon  the  outskirts  of 

the  pretty  town,  where  already  the  buds  w^ere 

bursting  and  the  green  grasses  were  bedecked 

with  the  earliest  flowers  of  spring,  a  letter 

found  its  way  to  Marjorie,  detailing  some  of 

the  happenings  of  their  trip. 

***** 

"  I  thought  I  missed  you  enough  to  have 
of  itself  satisfied  any  demands  of  a  retributive 
justice  upon  me  for  the  sins  of  my  past  life, 
but  it  seems  that  I  was  mistaken.  From  the 
moment  we  touched  the  wharf  at  Baltimore, 
began  a  series  of  mishaps  and  adventures  the 
culmination  of  which  I  dread  to  contemplate. 
In  the  first  place,  in  getting  the  animals  ashore 
the  plank  broke  as  Duke,  my  beautiful  bay, 
dearer  than  ever  to  me  since  you  rode  him, 
was  being  led  off  and  he  fell  into  the  water  and, 
as  he  had  been  feeding  and  still  had  his  nose- 
bag on,  he  drowned  before  anyone  could 
reach  him,  though  half  a  dozen  men  jumped 
in  to  save  him.  I  am  afraid  I  must  confess  to 
having  shed  bitter  tears  as  I  snw  the  lovely 


ii6  AX    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

fellow  Stretched  out  upon  the  sand  and  knew 
no  power  could  give  me  back  the  faithful 
creature  again.  He  and  I  had  stood  some 
hard  knocks  together  and  I  had  thought  that 
•^ome  day  he  would  be  turned  over  to  your  gen- 
ile  ministrations  with  no  other  calls  upon  him 
save  those  which  yo2i  should  make  ;  but  now 
that  dream  is  vanished,  and  I  shall  never 
speak  your  name  to  him  again  as  T  have  done 
every  day  since  you  left,  or  see  the  intelligent 
gleam  in  his  eye  as  though  he  understood. 
I  had  him  buried  away  from  the  crows  and 
all  the  other  vile  things  which  make  common 
prey  of  the  bodies  of  the  dead  and  the  hearts 
of  the  living,  and  felt  w^hen  the  train  rolled 
us  away  that  I  had  turned  my  back  forever 
upon  a  friend. 

"  Our  train  was  quite  a  large  one.  The 
men  and  horses  were  placed  upon  box-cars, 
but  the  guns,  etc.,  had  open  flats.  About 
midnight  one  night  as  we  were  rolling  along 
through  the  mountains  a  sudden  violent  com- 
motion brought  us  upon  our  feet,  and  the 
train  to  a  standstill ;  I  was  Officer  of  the  Day, 
and  jumped  out  to  see  what  the  matter  was. 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  117 

I  found  one  of  the  poles  of  a  caisson  had  come 
loose,  and  had  smashed  against  the  roof  of  a 
tunnel.  So  I  went  forward  to  have  it  fixed, 
and  then  gave  the  signal  to  start  on.  When 
our  car  reached  me  it  was  going  at  such  a 
rate  I  could  not  get  aboard,  and  there  1  was. 
Away  the  train  thundered,  leaving  me  alone 
at  dead  of  night,  the  sole  inhabitant,  so  far  as 
I  could  see,  of  the  mountain.  The  night  was 
very  cold.  I  had  left  my  overcoat  aboard, 
and  had  on  my  sabre  and  pistol,  so  I  struck 
out  along  the  ties  with  only  the  stars  to  light 
me  on.  After  walking  about  an  hour  I  spied 
way  in  the  distance  a  light  which  took  me 
another  hour  to  reach.  It  proved  to  be  a 
small  section  house,  or  way  station,  for  no 
where  in  particular,  simply  dropped  down 
there  for  the  accommodation  of  any  waj^farer 
who  might  happen  to  find  himself  in  that  be- 
nighted  region,  and  desired  to  depart  from  it. 
The  agent  was  up  and  looking  over  some 
books  as  I  entered,  my  sabre  clanking,  awak- 
ening echoes  which  had  never  awakened  be- 
fore, and  instinctively  he  reached  for  his  shot- 
gun.    But  I  explained  the  situation  to  him, 


Ii8  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

and  ascertained  that  an  express  would  come 
along  just  before  day,  but  would  not  stop, 
which  was  very  comforting.  I  could  not  get 
a  train,  he  said,  till  sometime  next  day.  But 
I  made  up  my  mind  that  the  express  luoida 
stop,  if  I  could  accomplish  it,  so  I  sat  talking 
with  him  till  I  heard  the  train  coming  along, 
thundering  through  the  mountains,  shrieking 
at  the  curves  and  the  mountains  resounding 
with  the  noises  far  and  near.  I  waited  till 
the  sound  got  near  enough  and  then  seizing 
the  agent's  lantern,  I  sprang  out  upon  the 
track  and  signalled  "  down  brakes."  The 
agent  swore  eloquently,  and  the  conductor 
joined  in  blasphemous  chorus  as  the  train 
came  slowly  to  the  station  ;  and  before  put- 
ting down  the  lantern  I  signalled  ''  go  ahead 
again,"  cried  out  **  good  night  "  to  the  agent 
and  jumped  aboard.  I  overtook  our  train  at 
Grafton,  and  just  in  time,  too,  for  a  few  mo- 
ments after  we  were  bowling  along  for  the 
Ohio  river,  at  Parkersburg. 

"  Now  we  are  camped  on  the  outskirts  of 
one  of  the  prettiest  little  towns  anywhere, 
with  promise  of  lively  times  in  a  social  way. 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  119 

Kentucky  people  have  always  been  famed  for 
their  hospitality,  and  I  doubt  not,  under  the 
humanizing  influences  surrounding  us  here, 
our  savage  state  will  undergo  material  modi- 
fication. 

"  Dear  old  Hugh  is  kind  and  thoughtful  as 
ever,  and  in  his  quiet  way  seems  so  happy, 
now  that  his  engagement  with  Miss  Wilmer- 
ding  is  an  assured  fact.  You  do  not  know, 
though,  that  after  you  left  she  wrote  him,  in 
answer  to  a  letter  of  his,  giving  him  the 
promise  he  asked,  and  he  never  seems  to 
worry  any  more.  I  could  not  help  telling 
him  of  our  own  engagement,  and  felt  so  much 
better  when  I  had  done  so.  He  seemed  so 
glad,  and  said  he  felt  an  added  responsibility 
regarding  me  now,  as  though  for  yotir  sake 
he  must  needs  look  after  me,  which  I  thought 
quite  complimentary  to  me  at  any  rate.  I 
have  never  known  a  man  in  whom  selfishness 
was  so  absolutely  impossible  as  in  him. 

"  Our  destination  is  as  yet  unknown,  though 
probably  we  shall  stay  somewhere  in  Ken- 
tucky for  some  time  to  come,  and  I  think  we 
can  stand  it  after  all  we  have  been  through. 


120  AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES. 

"  Here,  at  Lexington,  we  find  a  queer  ad- 
mixture of  the  Union  and  Rebel  sentiment — 
the  Union  predominating,  however,  1  think ; 
but  there  is  nothing  rancorous,  as  I  have 
seen  it  elsewhere,  and  whatever  bitterness 
exists  is  concealed  beneath  a  courteous  de- 
meanor. Though  we  have  been  here  only  a 
couple  of  days  we  know  half  the  town,  and 
shall  doubtless  know  the  other  half  before  we 

go-" 

•)f  *  *  *  * 

There  was  much  more  in  Olmstead's  let- 
ter; but  let  us  draw  the  curtain  before  those 
expressions  of  tenderness  to  which  he  yield- 
ed, as  became  the  existing  state  of  things 
between  those  two.  There  is  a  sacredness  in 
certain  utterances  which  it  were  sacrilege  to 
look  in  upon. 

But  Captain  Griswold's  battery  was  not 
alone  upon  this  pleasant  scene  of  action. 
Troops  were  encamped  in  considerable  num- 
bers within  easy  distance,  and  the  staffs  of 
one  or  two  headquarters  were  there  to  share 
and  dispute  with  them  their  claims  to  the 
generous  hospitalities  of  the  people,  and  so 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  121 

it  happened  that,  following-  a  time-honored 
custom,  the  officers,  desirous  of  returning  in 
some  measure  the  attentions  they  had  re- 
ceived, made  arrangements  for  a  ball.  The 
most  conspicuous  talent  in  that  direction 
which  their  numbers  possessed  was  employed 
for  a  fortnight  before  the  event  was  to  take 
place,  in  the  artistic  arrangements  of  the 
hall  and  every  incidental  of  the  fete.  The 
resources  of  Cincinnati  as  well  as  Lexington 
were  taxed  to  no  inconsiderable  degree  to 
meet  the  exigencies  of  the  occasion.  The 
products  of  hot-houses  and  the  open  ground 
were  levied  upon  to  make  a  fit  setting  to  the 
bright  gems  of  sweet  womanhood  which 
should  grace  the  scene.  A  famous  caterer 
had  carte-blanche  in  his  own  peculiar  prov- 
ince. A  military  band  and  cotillon  orchestra 
were  to  alternate  with  inspiriting  airs  and 
dreamy  inspirations  to  rhythmic  measures. 
Light  and  garland,  banner  and  festoon,  shrub 
and  flower;  soft  shimimering  drapery  and 
emblazonry  of  bar  and  star,  were  invoked  in 
the  creation  of  an  earthly  paradise ; — a 
neutral   ground    over    which    Euterpe    and 


122  AX    IDYL    OF    WAR-TIMES. 

Terpsichore  flung  the  spells  of  their  enchant- 
ment, and  the  little  winged  god,  through  the 
agency  of  a  subtle  power,  disguised  the  bit- 
terness of  political  creeds  within  the  enfold- 
ing of  his  mantle,  as  he  whispered  to  willing 
ears  the  story  to  which  all  the  world  has 
listened.  Lexington  had  been  placed  in 
singular  straits,  but  had  borne  herself  with  a 
dignity  and  graciousness  toward  both  the 
opposing  factions,  as  the  fortunes  of  war 
placed  her  in  alternate  possession  of  them. 
There  was  no  manifestation  of  exuoerant 
sentiment  for  either  party.  It  had  been  a 
graceful  submission  to  the  penalty  of  a  geo- 
graphic position  which  made  the  people  of 
Lexington  respected  by  North  and  South. 
Personal  interest  was  subordinate  to  per- 
sonal dignity.  There  was  no  outcry  against 
fate  or  the  rude  exactions  of  military  neces- 
sity. However  strongly  men  felt,  they  seem- 
ed to  recognize  the  fact  that  their  destinies 
were  being  shaped  by  stronger  hands  than 
theirs,  and  bravely  awaited  the  issue.  Lex- 
ington had  given  her  sons  to  both  sides  in  the 
contest ;  was  it  matter  of  surprise  that  her 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  123 

daughters  hearts  were  filled  with  love  and 
sympathy  for  the  cause  of  the  absent  ones  ? 
To  their  credit,  be  it  said,  the  gentleness  and 
modesty  of  woman  was  never  disguised  in 
the  bitterness  of  partisanship. 

At  length  the  night  rolled  round,  a  cloud- 
less, warm  delicious  day,  filled  with  the  song 
of  birds  and  odors  from  fields  and  wooded 
stretches ;  with  sunshine  lurking  everywhere, 
on  housetop  and  the  reaches  of  the  wood ; 
coaxing  the  meadows  into  bloom  and  fra- 
grancCjthrowing  shadows  which  peered  above 
the  fences  or  lay  upon  the  soft  blue  grass- 
patches,  or  in  moody  silence  watched  the 
sunbeam's  caress  of  some  fair  face,  which, 
from  a  casement  looked  out  upon  the  fresh 
beauty  of  the  spring;  a  day  wherein  the 
questioning  voices  of  all  nature  sounded 
sweetly  on  the  ear,  and  the  "  winds  set  free 
the  answers  of  the  trees  and  the  shrubs,"  and 
to  which  the  dying  sun  at  last  lent  tints  of 
purple  and  of  gold,  as  fitting  garb  wherewith 
to  greet  the  night,  and  she,  in  shimmering, 
silvered  vestment,  bedecked  with  diamond 
stars  and   the  glory  of  a  softened  radiance, 


124  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

threw  the  spell  of  her  enchantment  upon  the 
earth. 

And  now,  within  the  ball-room,  there  was 
the  murmur  of  happy  voices,  mingling  with 
the  soft,  seductive  strains  of  music,  and  a 
flood  of  light  from  a  hundred  colored  lamps 
suffusing  all  the  scene,  as  though  in  the  bor- 
rowed beauty  of  the  "  after-glow  " — the  rust- 
ling of  silks,  like  the  voices  of  the  winds 
amidst  the  reeds  within  the  marshes ;  the 
shimmer  of  satin  and  accessory  of  pearls  ; 
the  soft  tints  of  many  clinging  fabrics ;  the 
simplicity  of  lawn  and  tulle  with  the  embel- 
lishment of  buds  anM  fiowers ;  the  undulant 
motions  of  the  dancers,  like  waves  upon  the 
sea;  bright  uniforms,  with  glitter  of  gold  and 
the  scarlet  contrast  of  silken  sash  ;  the  delic- 
ious abandonment  to  the  spells  the  hour  un- 
loosed, were  there  to  emphasize  the  revel. 

Olmstead  thought  he  had  never  seen  any- 
thing quite  so  beautiful.  It  was  like  a  chap- 
ter from  a  fairy  book,  indeed,  and  he  almost 
feared  the  coming  of  an  evil  genius  to  throw 
the  spell  of  disenchantment  and  awaken  him 
from  a  delicious  dream. 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  125 

He  was  sitting  in  one  of  those  deep  win- 
dows which  afforded  a  safe  retreat  from  the 
rush  and  whirl  of  the  crowded  room,  the 
sash  was  thrown  open,  the  soft  evening  breeze 
gently  fanning  the  glowing  cheeks,  and  stir- 
ring a  truant  tress  of  his  fair  companion's 
hair.  They  had  been  talking  about  the  war, 
and  of  how  its  cruelties  had  come  home  to  so 
many  in  the  quiet  tOAvn ;  of  how  the  old-time 
traditions  were  being  effaced  in  the  new  or- 
der of  things,  following  in  the  train  of  pass- 
ing events ;  of  the  sudden  change  from  a  life 
of  pleasure  and  activity,  to  the  tedious  one  of 
waiting,  and  Olmstead  had  been  led  from 
generalities  to  talk  of  some  personal  experi- 
ence, when  the  clanking  of  a  sabre  attracted 
their  attention,  and  looking  round,  they  saw^ 
an  orderly  approaching  with  a  note.  Olm- 
stead took  it  and  read  : 

"  Come  to  camp  for  a  moment.  I  have 
sent  your  horse."  H.  G. 

"  What  is  it,  Mr.  Olmstead  ?  Nothing  ter- 
rible, I  hope,"  said  the  young  lady,  as  some 
one  came  in  at  the  same  moment  to  claim  a 
dance. 


126  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

"  I  cannot  imagine,"  he  replied."  "  Cap- 
tain Griswold  was  not  feeling  well  to-night, 
and  so  did  not  come  to  the  ball  ;  perhaps  he 
is  ill ;  I  must  go.' 

"  But  you  will  return  :  you  promised  to  tell 
me  of  Fortress  Monroe,  which  has  always 
been  the  Mecca  of  my  hopes.  I  shall  look 
for  you,  so  do  not  disappoint  me." 

"Not  if  I  can  help  it,"  said  Olmstead? 
"  the  flattering  thought  that  you  will  even 
hold  me  in  remembrance  will  speed  my  going 
and  hasten  my  return."  And  bowing  low 
before  her,  Olmstead  turned,  and  springing 
lightly  through  the  window,  was  soon  lost  to 
sight  amongst  the  shrubbery.  A  few  mo- 
ments later  he  rode  into  camp,  and  throwing 
himself  from  the  saddle,  entered  Griswold's 
tent. 

''What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

Griswold  was  busy  packing  a  valise,  and 
without  a  word,  handed  a  telegram  to  him  to 
read,  and  Olmstead  read  ; 

''  Kitty  very  ill.     Come."  Farnham 


CHAPTER  X. 

Several  days  after  Kitty's  disclosures  to 
her  sister,  Blaisdel  had  come  to  take  her  to 
see  a  famous  picture  then  on  exhibition  at  one 
of  the  galleries  of  the  city  and  together  they 
had  gone  out  into  the  glory  of  the  winter 
afternoon,  with  its  flood  of  sunlight  and  crisp 
cool  air,  on  which  the  pleasant  jingle  of  sleigh- 
bells  rang  as  the  handsome  turn-outs  upon  the 
avenue  dashed  by.  They  threaded  their  way 
through  the  throngs  upon  the  streets,  meeting 
and  nodding  to  acquaintances  here  and  there, 
chatting  of  a  hundred  things  just  then  the  feat- 
ures of  attraction,  looked  in  at  the  windows 
made  gorgeous  with  costly  fabric  or  banks  of 
hot-house  flowers  or  marvels  of  the  gold- 
smith's art  and  eventually  passed  in,  through 
the  outer  gallery,  to  an  inner  one  where  the 
picture  they  had  come  to  see  was  hung.  Per- 
haps a  dozen  people  were  there  in  wrapt  at- 
tention of  the  striking  canvas.  A  woman  and 
a  man  were  standing  upon  the  shore  of  the 


128  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

sea.  Her  face  was  sad  and  full  of  apprehen- 
sion. Her  head  rested  upon  his  shoulder  and  he 
was  looking  down  into  her  upturned  face  upon 
which  the  light  fell  so  that  it  was  half  hid- 
den in  shadow.  The  lips  were  half  parted,  as 
though  she  were  drinking  in  all  he  was  say- 
ing. Hope  seemed  struggling  with  a  dread 
foreboding.  The  man's  face  was  dark  and 
handsome  and  full  of  energy,  but  there  was  a 
tenderness  in  his  look  that  spoke  all  the  in- 
tensity of  his  passion  for  the  woman.  A  ves- 
sel lay  at  anchor  in  the  offing.  Upon  the 
shore  the  waves  were  tumbling  in  white  foamy 
masses, 

"  And  while  he  kissed  her  fears  away, 
The  gentle  waters  kissed  the  shore. 
And  sadly  whispering,  seemed  to  say  ; 

He'll  come  no  more,  he'll  come  no  more." 

This  seemed  to  be  the  inspiration  of  the 
picture.  Pathetic  as  was  the  subject,  the  col- 
oring was  sublime  and  the  drawing  and  per- 
spective faultless,  and  in  tJiese  lay  the  artist's 
power. 

Kitty  sat  and  looked  at  the  picture  for  some 
time  without  speaking,  indeed  the  sound  of  a 
human  voice  then  would  have  seemed  out  of 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  129 

place  to  her.  In  the  study  of  the  painting 
she  was  in  some  way,  she  felt,  in  spiritual 
communion  with  its  author,  for  pictures  to 
her  were  but  mirrors  of  the  mind,  as  blossoms 
are  symbols  of  the  gentle,  tender  thoughts  of 
woman  and  too,  through  some  subtle  associa- 
ation  of  ideas,  that  parting  scene  spoke  elo- 
quently to  her  through  memory  of  another 
parting,  wherein  she  was  an  actor,  and  a  sad- 
faced  man  another.  And  then  she  gazed,  in 
dreamy,  absent  fashion,  as  the  gentle  current 
of  her  thought  flowed  on,  and  a  tenderness 
took  possession  of  her  heart  and  unconscious- 
ly her  lips  and  voice  gave  form  and  accent 
to  a  name,  which,  falling  on  the  stillness, 
startled  her  out  of  her  reverie  and  told  Blais- 
del  the  secret  she  had  not  meant  to  tell.  For 
an  instant  their  eyes  met  and  then,  moved  by 
a  common  impulse,  they  strolled  out  into  the 
larger  room — Blaisdel  with  full  knowledge 
that  Hugh  had  won  and  that  his  own  hopes 
were  vain  and  Kitty,  with  a  tell-tale  color  in 
her  cheeks  and  a  light  within  her  eyes,  which 
told  that  she  was  not  ashamed. 

For  a  few  moments  they  mingled  with  the 


130  AN    IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES. 

crowd,  admiring  a  gem  as  it  fell  beneath  their 
gaze,  or  mildly  criticising  an  inferior  subject 
till,  at  last,  Blaisdcl  turned  to  lier  and  said  ' 
"May  I  congratulate  you  Kitty?   or  would  i^ 
be  premature  ?  " 

"  Not  premature,  I  think,"  she  answered- 
"  Has  Hugh  never  spoken  of  me  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  in  a  general  way.  Any  knowledge 
I  possess,  however,  comes  by  inference, 
rather  than  by  any  assurance  of  his ;  certain- 
1}^  he  has  not  told  me  of  his  gOod  fortune. 
You  will  not  care  if  I  write  and  wish  him 
joy?" 

"  If  so  you  regard  it,  certainly  not,"  she 
answered.  "  I  had  thought  the  more  grate- 
ful heart  should  have  been  my  own." 

"  Charming,"  replied  Blaisdel,  "  might  I 
venture  an  inquiry  as  to  when  Hugh's  happi- 
ness was  assured  to  him  ?' 

"  It  was  assured  to  him  when,  after  return- 
ing home  from  the  *  Charity  Ball,'  1  fell  upon 
my  knees  and  prayed  to  God  I  might  be 
worthy  of  so  generous  a  heart  as  his.  It  was 
promised  to  him  yesterday.  Do  niU  offend 
my    liappiness    by    your   sarcasm,    Charlie : 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  131 

surely  we  have  been  too  good  friends  for 
that,  and  I  have  been  vain  enough  to  hope 
that  we  would  always  be." 

Blaisdel  was  cut  deeper  than  he  himself 
suspected.  He  had  gone  on  flirting  with, 
half-loving,  first  one  and  then  another,  but 
imperceptibly,  quite  unknown  and  unsuspect- 
ed by  himself,  Kitty  Wilmerding  had  thrown 
around  him,  all  innocently,  the  influences  of 
her  charming  personality ;  tendrils  Avhich 
had  laid  hold  of  his  susceptible  but  fickle 
heart  more  strongly  than  he  knew.  But 
now,  as  the  voice  of  duty  bade  him  lay  hold 
of  her  image  and  tear  it  from  him,  he  felt 
how  hard  it  was.  But  his  was  a  nature  not 
devoid  of  good  or  of  generosity.  He  never 
would  be  untrue  to  his  friendship  for  Hugh, 
nor  pain  Kitty,  by  pleading  a  cause  he  plain- 
ly saw  was  lost. 

"Pardon  me,  Kitty,"  he  said.  "I  would 
be  a  churl  indeed  to  withhold  my  congratu- 
lations to  you  both,  and  your  friendship  will 
be  ever  dear  to  me  in  the  future,  as  it  has 
outrivalled  any  other  in  the  past." 

And  so  they  went  out  through  the  crowd 


133  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

of  loungers  into  the  street  again.  The  winter 
day  was  drawing  to  its  close.  Shadows 
lengthened  across  the  roadway.  The  tide  of 
humanity  was  moving  homeward.  The  air 
was  chill  and  the  sleigh  bells  rang  out  in 
shriller  tones.  There  was  a  chrystalline  bril- 
liance in  the  salient  points  which  caught  the 
last  rays  of  the  sinking  sun.  Footsteps  fell 
upon  the  stone  pavements  with  a  sharp,  crisp 
sound.  High  riding  above  the  world,  a  cold, 
pale  moon  was  set  in  the  clear  vault  of 
heaven  awaiting  the  djang  of  the  day  and 
the  hour  of  her  own  glory.  Kitty  drew  her 
cloak  more  closely  about  her  as  they  were 
born  along  by  the  irresistible  living  tide. 
Once  or  twice  she  shuddered,  and  Blaisdel 
asked  if  she  were  ill,  but  she  thought  not. 
She  was  only  chilly  and  her  head  pained  a 
little,  and  so  they  walked  on  till  her  sister's 
home  was  reached  and  Blaisdel  left  her,  glad 
to  be  alone  with  his  own  thoughts  again. 

But  Kitty  was  ill.  That  niglit  a  high  fever 
set  in  and  the  hours  dragged  on  slowly — 
tediously.  She  heard  the  solemn  tones  of 
the  city  clockr*  within   the  steeples  ring  cuit 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  133 

the  record  of  the  time  upon  the  frosty  air. 
The  roll  of  a  passing  carriage  in  muffled 
accents  fell  upon  her  ear  like  the  muttering 
of  distant  thunder.  The  little  night-lamp 
threw  all  the  appointments  of  her  room  into 
confused  and  uncertain  prominence,  and  the 
shadows  rested  like  weird,  unnatural  visitors 
across  the  walls  and  the  hangings  of  the 
chamber.  Strange  forms  peopled  the  scenes 
upon  which  her  distorted  fancy  dwelt.  Often 
she  started  as  though  in  terror,  and  then  re- 
lapsed into  the  fevered  sleep  of  exhaustion. 
The  next  day  her  fever  had  increased ;  the 
doctor's  medicines  were  impotent  to  quell  its 
raging.  Except  a  low,  unintelligible  m^utter- 
ing  which  at  times  showed  the  struggle  of 
her  mind  against  her  malady,  she  lay  with 
closed  eyes,  waiting.  Another  day,  and  the 
doctors  shook  their  heads  in  foreboding; 
slowly,  but  surely,  she  was  yielding  to  the 
deadly  nature  of  her  disease.  Hugh's  name 
was  upon  her  lips,  and  fell  upon  the  listen- 
ing ears  at  frequent  intervals ;  her  thoughts 
seemed  all  of  him.  Biaisdel  had  sent  her 
some  handsome  flowers,  wliich  rested  near 


134  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

the  bedside,  and  on  them  her  eyes  would 
rest  a  moment  and  then  upon  her  sister,  with 
a  look  of  inquiry,  followed  by  one  ot  plead- 
ing and  she  was  understood,  and  her  sister 
kneeling  beside  her  and  taking  her  little  pal', 
hand  within  her  own,  whispered :  *'  He  is 
coming,  dear,"  and  a  glad,  grateful  light 
would  beam  a  moment  in  her  eyes  and  she 
would  doze  off  again  more  peacefully,  hap- 
pier apparently,  than  before.  All  that  skill 
could  do,  all  that  tender  nursing  could  ac- 
complish, her  faithful,  loving  friends  be- 
stowed, yet  daily  the  sweet  girl's  life  drew 
near  to  its  end.  Realizing  it,  she  accepted 
her  doom  without  a  murmur.  Of  herself 
she  had  no  fear,  only  for  Hugh  was  her  mind 
troubled,  and  only  for  him  a  sorrow  lay  near 
her  heart,  to  which  the  tears  which  coursed 
down  her  cheeks  at  times  gave  mute,  pathetic 
emphasis. 

And  so  she  lingered  on — she  had  loosed  all 
claims  to  earth  save  one,  and  that  she  could 
not  yield — her  unwavering  faith  in  God's 
mercy  made  death  impotent  to  draw  the  veil, 
before  her  eyes  should  rest  once  more  upon 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  135 

the  face  of  the  iran  she  loved,  before  his 
arm  should  lift  lier  weary  head  upon  his 
breast,  and  as  life's  accents  faded,  his  voice 
should  be  the  last  to  linger  upon  her  ear  as 
she  passed  beyond  into  the  rest  and  beauty 
of  the  spirit  land. 


CHAPTER  XL 

When  Olmstead  read  the  telegram  which 
Hugh  had  handed  him  he  stood  for  an  in- 
stant dazed.  The  tidings  of  iUness,  followed 
so  quickly  on  the  heels  of  that  happy,  exuber- 
ant health,  which,  as  exemplified  in  Kitty,  had 
given  promise,  in  connection  with  the  tenor 
of  her  letters,  of  so  much  future  gladness,  that 
he  could  not  reconcile  the  two.  Hugh  did 
not  speak.  Speech  seemed  impossible,  in  pres- 
ence of  this  dread  message.  Mechanically  he 
hurried  his  preparations  for  departure.  A 
train  left  at  midnight  and  e'er  morning  he 
should  be  far  on  his  journey. 

'*  Hugh,"  said  Olmstead,  and  the  name  fell 
from  his  lips  with  an  unfamiliar  sound,  for  it 
was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  addressed  him 
so,  "  Hugh,  dear  old  friend,  how  can  I  help 
you?" 

*'  Boy,"  said  Griswold,  "  there  is  but  Ojic 
that  can  help  mc  now — pra}-  for  me  as  you 
never  prayed  before, — and  for  her,"  and  his 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  137 

great,  sad,  kind  eyes  had  a  hopeless,  piteous 
look  in  them  as  he  continued  :  "  It  is  hard 
to  be  brave  and  loyal  to  one's  faith  in  such  a 
presence  as  this,  one  never  knows  what  sor- 
row is,  till  it  comes  home  to  him  in  this  wise," 
and  he  wrung  Olmstead's  hand  as  he  turned 
to  go.  ''  Take  care  of  things  till  I  come  back," 
he  added,  '*  it  will  not  be  long,  in  any  case,'' 
and  Olmstead  choked  down  a  great  sob  as  he 
caught  him  in  his  arms  and  the  tears  streamed 
down  his  cheeks,  as  though  a  brother  s  crown- 
ing sorrow  cried  out  to  him  for  pity  and  for 
love. 

The  receding  rattle  of  the  ambulance 
wheels  sounded  fainter  and  fainter  as  Hugh 
was  rolled  away  to  the  station.  Olmstead 
stood  out  in  the  night,  beneath  the  quiet 
stars,  looking  into  the  shadow  of  the  woods 
beyond  his  camp,  and  thought,  as  they  laj^ 
so  close  to  the  golden  moonbeams  which 
flooded  the  bordering  meadow-land,  how 
typical  they  were  of  the  dull  realities  which 
linger  near  life's  poetry — how  it  was  but  a 
single  step  from  out  the  light  of  hope  and 
faith  and  glad  anticipation,  into  the  darkness 


138  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

of  despair  and  desolation.  He  had  no  mind 
for  a  continuance  of  the  gayety,  the  sound  of 
which  came  faintly  to  his  ear ;  the  undulating 
inspirations  of  the  orchestra,  sounded  hollow 
and  unnatural  in  their  commingling  with  the 
dull  thud  of  this  new-born  revelation  of  an 
appalling  possibility.  He  wrapt  himself  in 
his  cloak  and  seated  himself  before  the  tent,  fol- 
lowing Hugh  in  his  thoughts  and,  as  Hugh's 
words  came  back  to  him  :  "  Pray  for  me  as 
you  never  prayed  before,"  he  fell  into  mute 
communion  with  that  great  Spirit  who  alone 
can  save,  and  at  whose  throne  he  felt  he  was 
now  standing,  a  suppliant,  side  by  side  with 
his  heavy-hearted  friend. 

Two  days  later  a  train  thundered  into  the 
station,  as  New  York  was  awakening  from  its 
sleep.  The  flush  of  the  nascent  day  was 
spreading  above  the  horizon  across  the  river 
and  the  wooded  hills  beyond ;  the  rumble  of 
the  city's  noises  were  breaking  in  upon  the 
stillness  which  had  boded  above  the  outspread 
miles  of  housetops,  and  towering  spires,  first 
to  catch  the  summons,  lit  up  the  beacon-fires 
as  heralds  of  the  coming  golden  flood.     The 


AN    IDYL  OF   WAR-TIMES.  139 

sharp  shrill  voices  of  the  Arabs  of  the  street 
hawked  yesterday's  record  of  the  pulsing 
world  to  every  passer  by ;  into  the  long,  far- 
reaching  avenue  the  by-streets  poured  the 
tribular  waters  of  their  living  tides ;  deep- 
/oiced,  with  loud  clang  and  quivering  rever- 
beration, iron  tongues  proclaimed  the  hour ; 
the  grey  mists,  like  baffled  ghosts,  receded, 
and  the  triumphant  march  of  another  day, 
began. 

Over  the  stony  streets  rattled  the  carriage 
which  Hu^h  had  hailed  to  take  him  to  a 
hotel,  where  he  might  remove  the  stain  of 
travel.  The  sharp  click  of  the  horse's  hoof- 
beats  sounded  unpleasantly  upon  his  ear; 
they  seemed  to  him  to  be  singing  out  the 
knell  of  all  his  earthly  hope,  and  he  breathed 
more  freely  when  they  stopped.  Springing 
out,  he  secured  his  room  and  made  all  haste 
vith  his  toilet. 

*'  What  if  it  be  already  too  late,"  and  great 
drops  stood  upon  his  forehead  as  the  cruel 
thought  flashed  across  his  mind. 

Presently,  as  he  again  went  out,  the  clerk 
noticed   the   pale,   sad-faced    man,   and    his 


I40  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

active  brain  began  to  invent  the  cause,  and 
he  whispered  to  his  fellow  '*  some  trouble 
there,"  and  then,  whistling  softly,  he  turned 
to  his  books  and  arranged  the  business  for 
the  day,  and  forgot  the  misery  just  now 
passed  out  into  the  street. 

Hugh  had  not  far  to  walk.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments he  saw  the  drawn  curtains  of  the 
house  he  sought.  Upon  the  pavement  in 
the  roadway,  saw-dust  was  spread  to  deaden 
the  sounds  of  travel.  ''  Thank  God  no  crape 
is  on  the  door-knob,"  he  muttered,  and  the 
light  of  a  blessed  hope  fell  upon  his  heart, 
that  perhaps  the  struggling  young  life  within 
had  conquered. 

The  door  swung  open  obedient  to  his  light 
summons.  Evidently  he  was  expected,  for 
Mrs.  Farnham  was  there  to  receive  him. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  ''  thank  God  you  are  in 
time." 

Hugh  followed  her  mechanically  up  the 
heavily  carpeted  stairway  noiselessly,  as  one 
treads  in  the  presence  of  a  great  calamity. 
His  heart  seemed  to  cease  its  pulsing ;  the 
weakness  of  a  terrible  fear  came  over  him ; 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  141 

he  felt  that  he  stood  upon  the  brink  of  a 
sacrifice  greater  than  he  could  bear.  A 
moment  later  he  stood  beside  the  pillow  of  his 
loved  one.  Her  eyes  Avere  closed — a  poor, 
wan  hand  la}^  upon  the  white  spread,  a  thing 
of  wax,  with  faint  tracery  of  blue,  as  a 
thread  shows  in  the  petal  of  a  flower — the 
long  lashes  of  her  lustrous  eyes  rested  un- 
easily upon  the  sweet  pale  face;  the  dim 
light  of  the  room  shaded  the  lines  which 
illness  had  carved  on  brow  and  cheek,  hiding 
the  cruel  contrast  to  her  erstwhile  radiant 
beauty. 

Hugh  dropped  upon  his  knees  beside  the 
bed,  and  tenderly  took  the  little  hand  in  his, 
and  bending  over  the  prostrate  form,  spoke 
her  name.  A  quivering  of  the  eyelids,  a 
little  twitching  of  the  sensitive  mouth,  a 
sigh,  faint  as  a  distant  woodland  echo,  and 
the  sweet  eyes  opened;  a  smile  of  happy 
welcome,  a  whisper  of  his  name,  and  as  the 
curtain  for  an  instant  gently  parted,  a  ray  of 
glory  fell  upon  them— heaven's  golden  em- 
blem of  the  pledge  of  love,  registered  be- 
yond the  skies. 


142  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

**  Dear  Hugh,"  she  whispered,  '*  lift  me,  let 
me  look  out  into  the  sunshine  once  more, 
there  let  my  head  lie  upon  your  breast.  I 
am  happy  now ;  kiss  me,  dear.  See,  Hugh, 
the  great  white  doors  are  opening ;  do  you 
not  hear  the  music,  dear  Hugh?"  and  her 
head  rested  more  heavily  upon  his  breast ; 
the  dear  eyes  closed  ;  a  smile,  as  though  in 
glad  answer  to  a  happy  summons  parted  her 
lips  and  her  spirit  was  gone — flown  back 
again  to  the  God  who  had  loaned  it  to  make 
beautiful  an  earthly  tabernacle 

All  that  was  left  of  sweet  Kitty  Wilmer- 
ding  was  laid  away  to  rest  amidst  the  shadows 
of  her  beloved  hills,  but  their  voices  would 
no  more  answer  back  her  cry,  or  glad  birds 
voice  the  chorus  of  her  song.  The  strings 
were  broken ;  the  harp  was  stilled ;  faded 
flowers  la}^  upon  the  pathway  which  the  agile 
feet  had  trod  ;  there  was  a  sigh  among  the 
mountain  pines  for 

"  The  eyes  that  smile  no  more 
The  unreturning  feet." 

Hugh  Griswold  stood  alone  upon  the 
mossy  slope.     Beneath  the  waving  branches 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  143 

which  overshadowed  her  resting  place,  the 
last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  lay  slanting 
across  the  peaceful  scene,  and  along  the 
silent  streets  where  the  grasses  grew,  which 
harbored  blue-bells  and  daisies  and  sweet 
violets  in  the  summer  time.  Now,  the  blight 
of  winter  lay  upon  the  earth,  but  its  mutter- 
ings  were  growing  feeble  ;  there  was  a  pres- 
ence in  the  air  which  was  herald  of  the 
spring.  Far  down  below,  the  shining  river 
rolled  its  tide  onward  along  the  valley. 
Faint  sounds  of  life  struggled  up  the  steep 
incline  in  profanation  of  the  quiet  of  this 
city  of  the  dead.  Silent  and  sad,  looking 
far  off  beyond  the  limits  of  the  gathering 
gloom,  the  sunlight  faded  from  off  the  earth, 
as  every  joy  had  faded  from  out  his  heart. 
Struggling  with  the  cruel  thoughts  of  God's 
injustice  he  stood  and,  as 

"  Through  his  heart  the  tremor  ran 
Of  grief  that  cannot  weep," 

he  reverently  knelt  beside  the  new-made 
grave  and  peering  down,  as  though  the 
hidden  upturned  face  were  revealed  to  him 
again,  softly  spoke  her  name,  feeling  that  in 


144  AN     IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

some  way  slie  would  hear,  and,  as  at  last,  in 
infinite  relief  to  his  pent-up  agony,  the  tears 
streamed  down  his  manly  face,  he  spoke 
aloud  ; 

"  My  love  was  wear}' ; — 
God  bless  her,  she's  asleep," 

and  turning  toward  the  world  again,  he  took 
up  the  burden  of  his  life  and  sadlv  and 
silently  passed  on. 

Griswold  returned  immediately  to  his  bat- 
tery, arriving  at  Lexington  in  the  early  after- 
noon of  a  warm  sunny  da3\  There  was  noth- 
ing now  to  have  kept  him  in  the  east ;  he 
could  not  have  born  the  idleness  which  an 
extended  leave  would  have  imposed.  He 
wanted  activity  and  hard  work  ;  the  harder 
the  better,  anything  to  take  him  away  from 
himself.  He  carried  with  him  a  memory 
which  was  dearer  than  anything  the  world 
had  in  its  offering.  But  he  felt  that  it  must 
have  its  place,  he  could  not  keep  it  be- 
fore his  mental  vision,  hour  after  hour,  day 
after  day.  Only  when  the  day's  work  was 
done,  and  the  stars  were  set  in  the  sky  estab- 
lishing the  reign  of  night,  did  he  give  himself 
over  wholly  to   his  thoughls  of  what  might 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  145 

have  been,  and  the  cruel  reflection  of  what 
was. 

On  his  westward  journey  he  had  stopped 
for  a  day  at  Mr.  Hale's  home,  more  for  01m- 
stead's  sake  than  his  own  ;  even  in  the  midst 
of  his  own  bitter  sorrow,  he  did  not  forget 
"the  boy"  he  had  left  behind,  He  would  be 
glad  to  hear  of  Marjorie  from  one  who  had 
seen  her  face  to  face  ;  for  himself,  he  desired 
to  bespeak  for  them  a  happier  outcome  to 
their  hopes,  than  had  been  vouchsafed  to  him  ; 
there  was  that  in  the  man's  nature  which 
never  made  it  possible  for  him  to  yield 
wholly  to  consideration  of  self. 

Madelaine  he  had  found  better  in  every 
way.  Change  of  scene,  contact  with  brighter 
things,  had  softened  the  cruelties  of  her  dis- 
appointment ;  she  looked  upon  life  more  hope- 
fully, but  nothing  could  swerve  her  from  her 
determination  to  go  again  to  the  hospitals 
v/hen  she  was  a  little  stronger  ;  therein  lay 
the  V70rk  she  had  assigned  herself ;  therein 
she  v^rould  labor,  so  long  as  woman's  nursing 
could  avail. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,"  she  had  said  to 


146  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

Griswold,  "  but  I  know  how  feeble  woras  are 
in  such  a  case  as  yours.  Try  not  to  live  too 
much  in  the  past ;  loolc  ahead,  as  you  bade  me 
do.  Thank  God  that  at  least  you  have  a 
noble  work  to  do,  and  from  out  the  future,  as 
3'ou  enter  it  upon  the  path  of  duty,  there  will 
come  to  meet  you,  inspired,  perhaps  by  her, 
not  Lethe's  tide,  but  the  gentle,  rippling 
stream,  within  whose  depths  are  the  waters 
of  Nepenthe." 

With  ''the  boy  "  his  meeting  had  been  an 
almost  silent  one.  There  was  an  eloquence 
in  the  way  Olmstead  thre\v  his  arms  about 
him  and  whispered  :  "  Dear  old  Hugh,"  be- 
yond anything  else  he  could  have  spoken, 
and  Hugh  was  grateful  to  him  for  it,  and  so 
together  they  took  up  the  routine  of  their 
duties,  and  often,  as  they  sat  before  their 
tents,  in  the  soft  light  of  the  fading  day,  their 
thoughts  traveled  back  together  and  hovered 
in  tenderest  memory  above  a  little  grave, 
across  which  lay  the  lengthening  shadows;  but 
they  rarely  spoke  Kittie's  name — it  seemed 
like  a  profanation  of  the  silence,  in  which  her 
spirit  dwelt. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Griswold's  battery  was  not  destined  for  a 
long  sojourn  in  Kentucky's  garden  spot.  The 
sweet  spring  weather  had  wrought  a  won- 
drous change  upon  the  landscape  and,  enriched 
with  leaf  and  blossom  and  the  many  shades 
of  soft  carpeting  which  lay  unrolled,  stretch- 
ing far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  whole 
country  side  was  beautiful  in  the  extreme. 
But  other  changes,  which  they  were  called 
upon  to  watch  more  closely,  were  occurring 
upon  less  peaceful  and  inviting  scenes  of  ac- 
tion, and  Griswold  had  not  long  returned 
from  his  sad  journey  to  the  East,  before  they 
were  off  again,  for  Vicksburg.  But  of  their 
participation  in  that  campaign,  the  struggle 
against  hardship,  and  exposure  and  oppres- 
sive heat,  and  the  low  fevers  of  the  baj^ous 
and  the  marsh-lands,  the  gradual  investment 
of  the  city,  its  resistance,  and  ultimate  sur- 
render, this  narrative  has  nothing  to  do. 
Midsummer  had    passed,  and    September 


14S  AX    IDYL    OF   WAR-TIMES. 

suns  were  tempered  to  the  husbandman  and 
the  dwellers  in  canvas  cities  as  well.  Ken- 
tucky's harvest  time  was  drawing  to  its  close, 
and  already  the  night  airs  were  chill,  and 
tints  of  royal  gold  and  purple  were  showing 
upon  the  hill-sides  and  within  the  meadows. 

Lexington  had  awakened  from  her  sleep  of 
summer  ;  the  quiet  of  her  streets  v.-as  invaded 
by  cavalcade  and  market  caravan.  On  stated 
days,  the  Court  House  Square,  a  scene  of  bar- 
ter and  of  sale,  revealed  the  varied  products 
of  the  soil  and  beasts  of  noble  pedigree ;  the 
denizens  of  countr3'-side  and  citv,  fraternized 
upon  the  common  plane  of  reciprocal  depen- 
dence. 

Gris wold's  battery  was  a  daily  scene  of  ac- 
tivity ;  it  was  getting  into  shape  again,  after 
the  ordeals  of  its  recent  campaign.  New  men 
and  horses  were  being  drilled  ;  needed  re- 
pairs and  replenishment  of  ammunition  and 
supplies  were  being  attended  to  ;  preparations 
for  yet  another  campaign  were  being  pushed 
to  completion. 

In  a  quiet  wa}^  Hugh  mingled  with  the 
hospitable   people   of  the  city,  and  to  01m- 


AN   IDYL  OF   WAR-TIMES.  I49 

stead  there  was  a  never-ending  whirl  of  ex- 
citement :  lawn  and  riding  parties,  dinners 
and  dances,  excursions  to  various  suburban 
places  of  attraction,  music  and  sweet  dalli- 
tince,  the  poetry  of  life,  after  contact  vrith  its 
more  m.aterial  aspects,  and  it  was  little  vron- 
der,  that  when  the  morning  of  that  dull  day, 
late  in  Septem.ber  dawned,  which  saw  the 
battery  strung  out  upon  the  road,  headed  for 
the  Cumberland  mountains  and  Knoxville 
beyond  as  their  objective  point,  that  his  brain 
grew  dizzy  in  the  effort  to  locate  the  exac^ 
abiding  place  of  his  susceptible  heart. 

But  they  filed  along,  out  past  the  awaken- 
ing town,  past  the  outlying  pretty  residences 
with  their  groves  of  historic  oaks  and  neatly 
kept  lawns ;  out  beyond  that  atmosphere  up- 
on which  lay  the  incense  of  beauty  and  of 
bloom  and  around  which  would  ever  cling 
bright  memories,  till  a  turn  in  the  road  shut 
away  the  city  from  their  view,  and  closed  an- 
other chapter  of  experience. 

Their  line  of  march  lay  along  the  rich, 
cultivated  fields  of  the  Blue  Grass  region  ; 
out  through  Nicholasville  and  Crab-Orchard, 


T50  AX    IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES. 

and  here,  leaving  the  smooth  macadamized 
roads,  they  plunged  into  the  intricacies  of 
the  mountain  passes,  the  rumbling  wheels  of 
caisson  and  gun-carriage  awakening  echoes 
amidst  the  shadows  of  the  virgin  forest, 
which  rolled  along  the  mountain  sides  like 
mutterings  of  distant  thunder. 

At  last,  after  days  of  hard  marching  and 
struggling]  with  nearly  impassable  roads,  the 
heights  beyond  Knoxville  loomed  up  before 
them — gaunt,  staid  sentinels,  above  the  peace- 
ful valley,  w^hich  followed  the  curving  of  the 
Holston  river  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 
Long  afterward,  looking  back  over  the 
scene  in  the  light  of  his  memory  of  it,  as 
first  it  was  unfolded  before  him,  Hugh  felt 
the  cruelty  of  war's  curse  upon  the  land. 
The  smiling  landscape  of  his  memory  re- 
vealed  the  pretty  town,  built  upon  rolling 
hills,  at  whose  base  the  Holston,  in  broad 
sweeping  curve,  freighted  with  the  legends 
of  the  far  up-country  districts,  vrhich,  dark 
in  their  deep,  impenetrable  vesture  of  wild 
laurel,  lost  form  and  contour  in  the  purpling 
distance,  lav   like   a  burnished  silver  beam 


AN   IDYL  OF   WAR-TIMES.  151 

in  the  southern  sunshine.  High  mountain 
peaks,  in  abrupt  upheaval,  dominated  the 
fertile  valley,  which,  in  graceful,  wooded  un- 
dulations, stretched  east  and  west  through 
miles  of  farm-land  and  walnut  groves.  Out- 
lying the  city's  limits,  here  and  there  up- 
reared  upon  some  salient  point,  stood  low, 
rambling  southern  homes  within  the  shadows 
of  pines  and  cedars  and  the  embowerment  of 
clematis  and  honeysuckle  and  Virginia 
creeper,  with  stretch  of  lawn,  and  contrast 
of  a  thousand  tints  of  bloom.  Centrally, 
throughout  the  valley,  the  railroad  wound 
its  sinuous  length  along,  annihilating  dis- 
tance. Now,  the  hills  were  bared  of  cover- 
ings. Scarred  and  seamed  they  lay,  their 
peaceful,  smiling  aspect  hidden  in  the  rude 
transformations  which  marked  the  trail  of 
war.  A  girdle  of  breastworks,  yellow  and 
forbidding,  gave  abrupt  and  ugly  termina- 
tion to  the  graceful  slopes  leading  to  the 
city's  heart;  the  peaceful,  outlying  houses 
lay  in  smoked  and  shattered  ruins,  here  and 
there  a  vine-covered  wall,  standing  in 
ghostly  mockery  of  a  whilom  scene  of  beauty 


152  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

and  of  thrift.  Even  God's  acre,  in  its  ruined 
aspect;  its  fences  gone ;  its  marbles  broken ; 
its  pathways  deep  with  furrow  of  screaming 
shell,  looked  up  to  heaven  in  mute  appeal, 
from  the  cruelties  and  irreverence  of  man. 

On  the  night  of  the  12th  of  November, 
Griswold,  Olmstead  and  the  battery  surgeon 
were  grouped  about  the  little  Sibley  stove 
in  their  mess-tent,  smoking  their  pipes  and 
listening  to  the  pattering  rain  as  it  fell, 
driven  by  the  chill  Avinds,  upon  the  canvas. 
Until  that  very  day  the  weather  had  been 
beautiful,  but,  at  last,  the  much-dreaded  rain 
had  come  and  all  knew  what  tJiat  meant 
should  an  order  come  to  move.  The  Doctor, 
apart  from  his  qualifications  as  a  professional 
man,  was  a  public  benefactor  to  their  mess. 
A  German  ''jusqu'au  bout  des  ongles,"  he 
possessed  all  the  characteristics  of  his  race — 
an  indefatigable  worker — an  excellent  cook, 
and  one,  too,  who  could  evolve  from  nothing 
the  most  satisfying  and  savory  dishes,  good- 
natured  and  with  a  fund  of  anecdote,  upon 
which  he  always  drew  liberally,  when  the 
spirits   of    his   comrades    lagged.      On    this 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  153 

particular  night,  he  was  busy  with  a  ''  brew  " 
of  his  own  invention,  a  "  Sphirit  varmer," 
as  he  called  it  (and  it  was  no  misnomer),  and 
had  just  delivered  himself  of  the  remark, 
*'  Veil,  poys,  I  hope  ve  don't  get  ordered  oud 
in  dot  rain,"  when  the  clattering  of  a  horse's 
hoof-beats  caused  them  all  to  exchange  hur- 
ried glances.  A  moment  more  and  a  tap 
on  the  canvas  settled  the  matter  in  their 
minds. 

"  General  wishes   to   see   Captain 

Griswold  at  headquarters  at  once." 

"  All  right,"  said  Hugh,  and  calling  to 
Flynn  for  his  horse,  he  vras  riding,  a  few  mo- 
ments later,  up  the  road  toward  the  town. 

It  transpired  that  a  large  Confederate  force 
was  moving  up  from  the  vicinity  of  Chatta- 
nooga, evidently  with  the  intention  of  re-occu- 
pying East  Tennessee  and  all  the  troops  avail- 
able were  ordered  post  haste  to  Loudon, 
thirty  miles  distant  and  at  the  railroad  cross- 
ing of  the  Tennessee  river  to  oppose  it. 

Griswold  was  told  to  get  on  the  road  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  to  march  with  all  dis- 
patch, and  report  to  the  General  again,  when 


154  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

he  should  reach  Loudon.  The  rain  was  fall- 
ing now  in  torrents,  the  night  was  pitch  dark 
and  the  lanterns  of  the  sergeants  as  they 
moved  about  superintending  the  prepara- 
tions, threw  a  dim  spectral  light  about  the 
camp.  At  last,  as  the  first  suspicion  of  day- 
light made  the  road  visible,  the  battery  rolled 
out  of  park  and  headed  down  the  road. 
There  was  no  abatement  of  the  storm,  the 
wind  blew  in  furious  gusts  driving  the  cold 
rain  peltingly  into  the  eyes  of  rider  and 
horse,  there  was  not  a  dry  garment  in  the 
entire  command,  but  they  dragged  along, 
over  the  slippery  hills,  through  the  deep, 
boggy  lanes,  making  cut-offs  through  the 
fields  where  the  roads  were  too  heavy.  On, 
on,  animated  with  but  one  desire,  to  be  in 
time.  With  short  intervals  of  rest,  they  plod- 
ded on  during  all  the  day,  and  into  the  night, 
till  the  utter  darkness  made  further  progress 
impossible  ;  then,  they  filed  into  a  neighbor- 
ing field  and  halted.  It  was  with  the  utmost 
difficulty  that  tents  could  be  pitched  at  all ; 
the  wind  whistled  and  whirled  about  as 
though    bent    upon    destruction.      At    last, 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  155 

after  much  hard  work,  their  tent  was  up : 
they  pitched  but  one,  it  was  no  time  for  lux- 
ury, some  place  to  lie  down  and  rest  was  all 
they  wanted.  An  hour  or  so  later,  they  had 
just  ranged  themselves  round  a  mess-pan  of  a 
hot  and  tempting  evidence  of  the  Doctor's 
skill,  when  a  sudden,  mighty  rush  and  whirl 
of  wind  lifted  their  tent  completely  from  the 
ground  and  hurled  it  fifty  feet  from  where 
they  sat ;  their  supper  was  overturned  and, 
looking  about  them,  the  whole  battery  was  a 
scene  of  desolation.  Not  a  piece  of  canvas 
standing  ;  the  poor  horses  with  heads  lowered 
and  backs  to  the  storm ;  men  running  here 
and  there,  intent  upon  the  recovery  of  some 
missing  article  of  apparel,  and  confusion  every- 
where. Tired  out,  dispirited,  seeing  the  use. 
lessness  of  essaying  to  pitch  the  camp  again 
in  the  yielding  soil,  they  one  and  all  wrapped 
themselves  in  their  blankets  (albeit  they  were 
heavy  and  wet),  and  lay  down  to  sleep  beneath 
the  sodden  sky,  the  shrieking  winds  for  their 
lullaby. 

At  daylight  they   moved  on   again;  the 
roads  now  were  well  nigh  impassable,  and 


156  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

the  pitiless  storm  showed  no  signs  of  abate- 
ment. Whip  and  spur  were  needed  now  to 
rouse  the  tired  horses  to  a  last  effort.  The 
fringe  of  timber  marking  the  river's  course 
was  dimly  defined  in  the  distance.  Columns 
of  infantry  were  laboring  along,  now  under 
the  partial  shelter  of  the  bordering  woods  ; 
now  in  the  open  of  a  cleared  and  furrowed 
field ;  distant  shots  told  of  the  enemy's  pres- 
ence ;  here  and  there  a  horse  lay  .dead,  a 
victim  of  the  urgent  necessity  of  the  hour ; 
a  stragghng  soldier,  taxed  beyond  endur- 
ance, an  abandoned  wagon,  a  lost  spur,  a 
broken  wheel,  a  watchful  vulture,  sailing 
amidst  the  scudding  clouds,  filled  up  the 
spaces  in  the  speaking  picture. 

At  last,  exhausted,  utterly  unable  to  much 
farther  drag  their  weary  feet  along,  they 
toiled  to  the  summit  of  a  little  hill  and  saw, 
outstretched  before  them,  the  plateau  bord- 
ering the  river  bank,  and,  as  they  gathered 
themselves  together  for  the  short  home- 
stretch, a  band,  by  the  roadside,  stationed 
there  by  the  Colonel  of  an  Ohio  Regiment, 
struck    up    *'  Rally    round   the    Flag."     The 


AN   IDYL   OF  \YAR-TIiMES.  157 

effect  was  marvelous — men  and  horses  seem- 
ed imbued  with  a  new  and  vigorous  life,  and 
sprang  forward  as  though  the  hard  struggles 
of  the  past  forty-eight  hours  had  dropped 
from  out  the  scale— the  wheels  rumbled 
along  as  though  impelled  by  unseen  hands — 
a  shout,  as  though  of  victory,  rang  out  upon 
the  air,  and  Griswold's  battery  rolled  into 
park — on  time. 

Griswold  hurried  off  for  orders  to  a  group 
of  ofBcers  standing  round  a  camp-fire  not  far 
distant. 

''Unhitch,  but  do  not  unharness  your 
horses,"  the  General  said,  "we  cannot  tell 
what  m.ay  happen,"  and  as  he  spoke,  a  shout, 
short  and  shrill,  which  every  Union  man  had 
learned  to  couple  with  a  dash  against  their 
front,  broke  out;  a  rattle  of  musketry,  the 
answered  yell  as  the  attacking  force  receded, 
and  then  the  stillness  of  the  grave.  The 
enemy  was  making  a  dash  for  cover  on  the 
river  bank. 

Returning  to  the  battery,  Griswold  gave 
orders — first,  for  the  horses'  care ;  then,  for 
his  men.     "  Get  what  rest  you  can,"  he  said ; 


153  AN    IDYL   OF    WAR-TIMES. 

"  pitch  no  tents ;  give  the  horses  double 
rations ;  unlimber  and  reverse  the  pieces." 

Flynn  and  the  Doctor  were  grand  that 
afternoon,  and  within  an  hour,  a  savory  mess 
was  ready  for  the  starving  party,  which  they 
dispatched  with  a  relish  that  only  a  soldier 
can  appreciate. 

The  rain  had  ceased  to  fall ;  the  clouds 
broke  away  little  by  little ;  the  distant  hori- 
zon grew  vague  and  purple ;  outlines  lost 
their  sharpness ;  stealthily  the  shadows  set- 
tled on  the  wooded  heights  and  crept  down 
into  the  valley  ;  the  camp-fire's  blaze  was 
brighter;  a  few  stars  studded  the  darkling 
vault  of  heaven ;  night's  reign  had  begun, 
and  over  the  watchful  hosts  a  stillness  rested, 
ominous — oppressive. 

Slowly  the  hours  dragged  on  ;  men  when 
they  spoke,  did  so  with  voices  which  were 
low  and  unnatural ;  every  sound  that  broke 
upon  the  air  carried  its  impressions  of  signi- 
ficance. Roused  from  a  restless  sleep,  men 
sat  up  and  listened  ;  from  out  the  quiet  belt 
of  impenetrable  shadow  hanging  above  the 
river   bank,   none    knew   what  might  come ; 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  I59 

the  weariness,  the  suspense  ;  the  benumbing 
cold;  the  uncertain  possibilities  which  lay 
concealed  within  the  coming  hour;  the 
majesty  of  death  foreshadowed  in  the  mental 
tableau  of  tlie  impending  struggle,  precluded 
restful  sleep  or  needed  rehabilitation.  Mid- 
night passed;  the  moon  was  coming  up 
above  the  hills,  and  through  the  valley  the 
silvery  light  painted  grotesque  images  upon 
the  ground.  A  cricket  chirped  from  a  pro- 
tecting thicket;  the  distant  voices  of  tree- 
toads,  like  mimic  sleigh-bells,  filled  the  air 
with  christalline  reverberations;  a  specula- 
tive owl  hooted  from  a  neighboring  tree; 
weariness  had  gained  the  mastery  over  the 
restless  host. 

Olmstead,  stretched  out  upon  a  board  which, 
he  had  picked  up  from  a  neighboring  deserted 
house,  was  back  again  with  Marjorie,  the 
accents  of  her  sweet  voice  were  on  his  ear ; 
he  was  drawing  with  her  the  plan  of  her 
future  life  ;  he  felt  the  pressure  of  her  hand  ; 
over  his  senses  stole  the  influences  of  sweet 
communion ;  when,  like  a  lightning  flash,  the 
dream  vanished.     He  found  himself  upon  his 


i6o  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

feet,  instinctively  running  to  his  guns. 
The  air  was  laden  with  the  deafening  roar  of 
musketry  ;  the  yell  and  shout  of  men  in  herce 
engagement.  Like  a  roar  of  mighty  thunder, 
without  a  moment's  premonition ;  sudden, 
fierce,  terrible,  the  din  of  conflict  broke  upon 
the  stillness  ;  rolled  over  the  valky  ;  hurled 
back  in  deafening  echoes  from  the  distant 
hill-sides,  startling  into  active  life  the  sleep- 
ing thousands,  and  then,  suddenly,  as  it  had 
come,  the  tumult  ended ;  and,  as  the  smoke 
clouds  rolled  away,  the  stars  looked  down 
from  heaven  in  merry,  twinkling  mood,  and 
the  moon  set  her  silent,  painted  shadows 
once  more  upon  the  earth.  And  so  the  night 
Vv^ore  on,  a  weary  watching  and  waiting  for 
the  day,  with  alternate  attack  and  oppression 
of  silence.  At  last,  about  three  o'clock,  the 
shrill  notes  of  a  hundred  bugles  rang  out 
upon  the  air ;  there  was  a  stir  and  bustle,  a 
hurried  breakfast,  and  long  lines  of  infantry 
crept  over  the  hills,  back  on  the  same  road 
they  had  toiled  over  only  a  few  hours  before. 
Wagon  trains  also  took  up  the  weary  route 
again,  and    batteries   here  and  there  dispu- 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  i6l 

ted  with  them  the  right  of  way.  So  wretched 
had  the  roads  become,  so  deep  and  heavy  in 
the  red,  clinging-  clay,  that  trains  were 
doubled  and  scores  of  wagons,  deprived  of 
locomotive  force,  were  drawn  close  together 
and  with  their  contents  given  over  to  the 
flames.  High  above  the  tree-tops  the  lurid 
iiames  shot  into  the  air,  the  artificial  light 
converting  the  dark  hours  before  davrn  into 
the  searching  brilliance  of  noon.  Projected 
against  the  hill-side,  the  flashes  of  reflected 
light  from  rifle-barrel  and  brazen  field-piece 
shimmered  as  gleaming  moonbeams  upon  a 
ruffled  sea,  and  the  creeping  sliadovv's  length- 
ening as  they  receded  into  the  distance, 
formed  a  spectral  panorama  of  night  shapes 
flying  from  the  day. 

And  now  the  whole  army  is  in  route,  only 
a  strong  rear-guard  checks  the  impetus  of 
the  enemy's  advance ;  mile  after  n:iile  of 
weary  marching,  the  roadv/ays  lined  with 
stores  deserted,  to  lighten  the  loads  of  the 
tired  animals;  here,  a  wagon  hopelessly 
abandoned  in  some  deep  quagmire  ;  further 
on,  teams  quadrupled  to  drag  a  sunken  gun 


i62  AN   IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

from  the  deep,  bottomless  mud.  Solid  col- 
umns and  knots  of  stragglers ;  loose  animals 
and  rejected  harness ;  cries  of  teamsters  and 
crack  of  whip  ;  curse  and  laughter  ;  the  occa- 
sional ping  of  a  bullet  speeding  over  head  ; 
the  g-iven  and  answered  shot  and  challeng-e 
of  the  rear  and  advance  guards  of  the  con- 
tending legions. 

Hour  succeeded  to  hour — the  sun  had 
crept  on,  steadily  to  the  zenith — the  morn- 
ing mists  had  been  long  since  dissipated  and 
a  clear  and  cloudless  sky  over-arched  the  sod- 
den earth.  Steadily  the  enemy  advanced  ;  as 
steadily  the  Union  troops  retreated,  the  des- 
ultory firing  of  the  skirmishers  ringing  out 
upon  the  air  voiced  menace  and  defiance — 
now  and  then  a  yell  and  deafening  rattle  of 
musketry  told  of  a  charge  to  recover  the 
body  of  a  fallen  comrade ;  then  the  occasional 
shot,  proclaimed  the  slow  advance  and  re- 
treat- again.  But  the  triumphal  march  of 
battle  is  not  the  glittering  pageant  which 
sweeps  athwart  the  scene  leaving  its  impres- 
sions of  martial  bearing  and  burnished  arms 
and  waving  standards  and  patriotic   music. 


AN   IDYL  OF   V/AR-TIMES.  163 

The  pasans  of  victory  flash  out  upon  the  air 
and  mingle  with  the  voices  of  requiem ;  the 
laurels  which  crown  the  brow,  give  no  token 
of  the  pall  which  enshrines  the  heart ;  the 
crimson  blood  which  stains  the  earth  voices 
the  mighty  sacrifice  a  nation  makes,  in  honor's 
maintenance.  But  the  reception  tendered 
the  aggressive  visitors  had  lacked  many  of 
the  elements  of  formality.  The  dispute  of 
the  river's  passage  had  been  made  by  a 
strengthened  picket  line,  the  forces  of  the 
opposing  factions  had  had  no  test  of  their  re- 
spective strength  or  metal.  Surprise  had  not 
assumed  the  dignity  of  indignation,  and  now, 
through  fifteen  miles,  with  feebly  muttered 
protest,  the  Union  troops  had  retired  and  the 
moment  had  come  wherein  to  check  the  fiery 
onset  and  double  the  advancing  ranks  back 
upon  themselves.  About  tv/o  o'clock  of  the 
afternoon  of  this  November  day,  the  line  of 
battle  of  the  Federals  was  formed.  The  in- 
fantry following  for  the  most  part  the  line 
of  a  fence  which  ran  perpendicular  to  the 
roadway  curving  backward  toward  the  right; 
the  artillery  on  the  higher  ground,  behind. 


i64  AN   IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES. 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  sounds  of  the 
skirmishers  firing — now  they  are  nearly 
through  the  woods— a  few  more  yards  and 
the  open,  rolling  ground  in  rear,  discloses  to 
our  men  the  line  of  battle — waiting.  Halt- 
ing for  a  moment,  they  open  a  murderous 
fire  upon  their  pursuers  and  then,  with  a  yell 
and  dash,  reach  the  lines  in  safety.  Quickly 
the  opposing  lines  are  formed.  From  the 
edge  of  the  timber,  guns  protrude  their  muz- 
zles; right  and  left  the  columns  of  infantry 
deploy,  a  struggling  shot  breaks  in  upon  the 
stillness  hovering  above  this  scene  of  deadly 
preparation  ;  a  flutter  of  musketry,  the  occa- 
sional boom  of  a  field-piece  experimenting 
with  the  range,  and  now,  a  line  of  grey-coated 
men  appears  and  with  a  bound  and  yell  they 
have  cleared  the  limit  of  the  woods;  down 
the  slopes  they  come,  their  banners  waving, 
the  earth  trembling  beneath  their  heavy 
tread,  the  air  resounding  with  the  defiant 
iterating  of  that  short,  sharp  cry,  which  was 
peculiarly  their  own,  their  cannon  behind 
them  hurling  shot  and  shell  into  the  Union 
ranks  heralding  their  approach.    But  the  blue- 


AN  IDYL  OF   WAR-TIMES.  165 

coats  hold  their  fire  ;  nearer  and  nearer  comes 
the  fierce  human  tide ;  our  men  can  see  their 
features  ;  now  the  whites  of  their  eyes;  and 
an  instant  later,  the  groans  of  the  dying,  the 
shriek  of  the  wounded,  the  din  of  a  murder- 
ous melting  fire  commingle,  as  the  grey  line 
falters,  halts  and  finally  seeks  refuge  whence 
it  came. 

The  opening  ceremonies  had  been  per- 
formed ;  men  of  opposite  creeds  were  strang- 
ers to  each  other  no  longer ;  the  battle  of 
Campbell's  Station  was  inaugurated. 

With  varying  fortune  to  either  side  the 
conflict  raged  during  that  whole  afternoon. 
Once  the  Union  lines  retreated,  but  only  a 
few  hundred  yards,  to  a  point  of  better  van- 
tage, and  here  they  held  their  ground  till 
night  closed  down  upon  the  scene  and  the 
startled  echoes  sank  to  rest  and  the  pitying 
e3^es  of  heaven  looked  down  on  friend  and 
foe  alike. 

But  the  night  brought  no  rest  to  the  tired 
feet  or  wearied  body  or  heavy  eyes ;  the 
Confederate  lines  were  lapping  over  the 
Union   flanks   and   iJiey  must  retire,  or  every 


i66  AN    IDYL  OF   WAR-TIMES, 

avenue  of  escape  will  soon  be  closed.  Si- 
lently the  worn  out  troops  file  into  the  road 
once  more ;  horse  and  foot ;  battery  and  bag- 
gage-train ;  ambulance  and  ammunition  wag- 
on ;  the  stars  of  heaven  to  light  them  on  their 
way ;  the  voices  of  woodland  sprites,  dis- 
tinct above  the  whispered  words  of  cheer, 
which  pass  from  mouth  to  mouth  ;  the  groan 
of  a  wounded  man,  as  a  rough  place  in  the 
roadway  shakes  his  shattered  body  ;  the  cling- 
ing mud  adding  extra  strain  to  muscles  al- 
most overtaxed  ;  no  song  to  cheer;  no  shout 
of  victory  to  linger  on  the  ear  and  quicken 
the  lagging  pulse. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  Griswold  had  re- 
ceived orders  to  detach  a  section  of  his  bat- 
tery to  report  to  the  general,  who  was  to 
command  the  rear-guard  that  night,  and  he 
had  sent  01m stead,  and  the  latter,  crowded 
well  to  the  side  of  the  road,  watched  the  re- 
treating  army  as  it  filed  along,  a  grim  pro- 
cession, through  the  shadowy  forest;  a  weary, 
dispirited  look  in  the  eyes  which  had  been 
innocent  of  sleep  for  forty-eight  long  hours  ; 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  167 

half  blinded  by  the  smoke  of  battle,  as  the 
ears  were  half  deafened  by  its  din. 

The  pickets  had  begun  their  senseless  fir- 
ing again ;  even  the  boon  of  silence  was 
denied  to  the  weary  hosts,  and  Oimstead,  see- 
ing the  last  regiment  pass  by,  filed  into  his 
own  appointed  place,  with  a  low  word  of 
command  set  his  own  little  band  in  motion. 

About  midnight,  the  moon  showed  her  face 
above  the  distant  hills  and  peered  in  through 
the  thick  branches  of  the  trees  at  the  ghostly 
pageant. 

A  halt  was  ordered  for  ten  minutes'  rest ; 
a  regiment  thrown  back  to  strengthen  the 
picket  line  and  keep  the  enemy  in  check  while 
this  scant  respite  was  enjoyed.  The  word 
was  passed  along  the  column  in  low  tones 
scarce  above  a  whisper  and  every  soul  of  that 
v/eary  column  and  every  animal  as  well, 
dropped  fast  asleep  before  they  had  fairly 
settled  down  upon  the  ground.  Oimstead 
threw  himself  from  his  horse  and  into  a  crotch 
formed  by  two  displaced  rails  of  a  fence  hard 
by  and  knew  no  more  till  aroused  by  the 
nearness  of  the  firing  and  then,  springing  up, 


i68  AN   IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

he  took  in  his  little  squad  at  a  glance.  The 
horses  nodded  where  they  stood — the  drivers 
had  fallen  forward  on  the  necks  of  their  faith- 
ful beasts  and  were  far  away,  unconscious  of 
their  danger  or  the  warning  rattle  so  steadily 
creeping  up  upon  them.  The  cannoneers  lay 
wherever  they  had  fallen — launched  far  amain 
beyond  the  sea  of  thought,  upon  the  pleasant 
waters  of  a  happy  dream.  No  human  voice 
could  have  roused  those  sleepers — yet,  they 
must  be  up  and  doing.  Seizing  his  orderly's 
bugle  he  shrilled  upon  the  air  the  "  For- 
ward "  signal  and  without  a  Vv'ord  of  exclama- 
tion, a  question  or  a  protest,  the  fetters  of 
sleep  dropped  off ;  each  man  and  horse  was 
alive  again  and  moved,  as  though  from  out 
the  shadow  of  the  night,  into  the  silver)^ 
shimmer  of  the  moonbeams  which  lay  across 
their  path. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

By  noon  of  the  following  day,  the  invest-  / 
ment  of  the  city  was  completed  and  Burnside's 
little  army  cut  off  from  communication  with 
the  outer  world  and  now,  the  work  of  des- 
ecration began.  Breastworks  and  redoubts, 
batteries  and  abattis  sprang  up  as  though  by 
magic,  and  woe  to  lawn  and  grassy  slope  or 
pretty  dooryard  which  came  in  the  pathway 
of  the  line  of  defence  ;  the  exigencies  of  mili- 
tary necessity  have  little  regard  for  nice  dis- 
tinctions and  so  the  peaceful  labor  of  years 
in  many  cases  faded  before  a  single  night's 
preparation  for  war. 

Griswold  and  Olmstead  were  located  upon 
the  brow  of  a  pretty  little  hill,  the  end  of  a 
city  street,  which  looked  out  over  the  country 
through  which  they  had  first  made  acquaint- 
ance with  the  natural  beauties  of  the  place. 
Beneath  them  lay  the  railroad,  with  its  neat 
little  depot  beyond  and  near  which  had 
sprung  up  a  little  village — an   outlying  feat- 


I70  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

ure  of  the  city.  Behind  them,  a  small  stone 
Catholic  church  stood — its  spire  reared  mod- 
estly above  the  surrounding  house-tops,  its 
gilded  cross  flashing  in  the  sunlight,  its  sym- 
bolized promise,  far  over  the  outspread  scene. 
A  little  school-house,  deserted  now  of  its 
whilom  occupants,  graced  a  corner  of  the 
churchyard.  Far  as  eye  could  reach,  to 
right  and  left,  lay  the  lines  of  the  investing 
army — closer  and  closer  each  dawning  day  dis- 
closed their  picket's  rifle  pits  and  few  were 
the  intervals  of  rest ;  few  the  moments  when, 
upon  the  air,  the  ping  of  bullet  or  hoarse 
scream  of  shell  brought  not  a  message  of 
menace  or  of  death. 

The  November  days  were  mostly  bright 
with  sunshine,  but  the  nights  were  chilly  and 
dispiriting.  With  insufficiency  of  clothing 
and  rations  of  the  scantiest,  with  the  moun- 
tain passes  toward  the  east  blocked  with 
snow,  and  sources  of  supply  cut  off,  with  suc- 
cor nowhere  visible,  and  the  possibility  of 
capture  looming  up  like  a  ghostly  contingen- 
cy upon  the  enemy's  ability  to  keep  closed 
the  gates  to  freedom  but  a  little  longer,  men 


AN   IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES.  171 

with  less  of  the  true  fire  of  patriotic  spirit, 
less  self-reliance  and  faith  in  their  invincibil- 
ity, might  have  found  at  Knoxville  a  speedy 
solution  of  the  question  of  sovereignty  over 
east  Tennessee ;  but  the  troops  throughout 
were  cheerful.  There  was  but  little  sickness, 
and  an  indomitable  spirit  of  energy  and  de- 
termination supplied  the  place  of  numbers 
and  resources.  And  so  the  time  passed  on, 
and  the  morning  of  the  29th  dawned  crisp 
and  bright,  besiegers  and  besieged  quietly 
watching  each  other,  and  with  little  thought 
of  the  ghastly  work  in  hand  to  darken 
the  coming  of  another  day.  Early  in  the 
night  the  moon  disappeared  below  the  west- 
ern hills,  and  impenetrable  darkness  settled 
down  upon  the  earth.  Somehow  it  was 
noised  about  that  the  enemy  would  attack 
sometime  during  the  night,  and  preparations 
were  made  for  his  reception.  Brush  heaps, 
here  and  there,  were  fired  before  the  Union 
lines  to  illumine  the  space  over  which  the 
enemy  would  have  to  cross.  At  regular  in- 
tervals of  the  night  a  shot  went  screaming 
down  the  railrgad  track,  ploughing  through 


172  AN    IDYL  OF   WAR-TIMES. 

the  air  with  voice  of  warning ;  men  lay  down 
to  rest  with  their  rifles  loaded  and  near  at 
hand — there  was  a  portentous,  mysterious 
something  upon  the  air,  a  sudden  hush  and 
oppressive  silence,  a  faint  low  murmur  borne 
at  intervals  upon  the  bosom  of  the  gentle 
breeze,  pregnant  with  suggestion — and  still 
the  night  wore  on — the  pickets  gave  no  sign 
or  token,  the  stars  twinkled  merrily  in  their 
spheres,  as  though  peace  and  rest  were  en- 
throned upon  the  earth.  But  the  storm  was 
gathering.  A  picket  far  in  advance  saw  mov- 
ing objects  in  the  distance — now  they  drew 
nearer — he  could  hear  the  low  word  of  com- 
mand— from  the  earth  there  seemed  to  rise  a 
surging  on-coming  ocean  of  humanity.  Crack 
went  the  warning  rifle — another  followed, 
and  others  still,  and  then  a  yell,  fierce,  long, 
determined — the  yell  of  men  who^  had  left 
behind  them  every  thought  save  the  single 
one  of  grim  determination  "  to  do  or  die," 
and  with  a  mighty  rush  they  gallantly  came 
onward  to  their  doom.  And  now  the  scene 
was  a  lurid  glare  of  light,  the  roll  of  musketry 
trebled  to  the  deep  bass  accompaniment  of 


AN   IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES.  173 

cannon's  roar;  exultant  shout  and  defiant 
yell  blended  with  groan  and  shriek  of  agon3\ 
Over  the  slope,  past  the  ditch  filling  with  the 
dead,  well  up  the  parapet,  to  the  very  muz- 
zle of  the  guns,  cheering  each  other  on,  vic- 
tory seemingly  within  their  grasp— the  brave 
Confederates  came,  but  only  to  recoil  before 
the  withering  storm  which  made  Fort  San- 
ders a  wall  of  deadly  fire,  an  impregnable 
stronghold.  Again  and  again  they  breasted 
that  terrific  storm.  It  was  a  repetition  of  the 
heroism  and  undaunted  courage  of  Gettys- 
burg—but it  was  as  hopeless,  and  as  the  day- 
light crept  above  the  eastern  hills  the  shattered 
columns  withdrew  and  eternity's  gates  closed 
upon  the  silent  throng  which  had  entered  in 
beyond  sight  or  sound  of  earthly  passions. 

Griswold,  lying  beside  his  guns — a  ghastly 
wound  upon  the  head— another  in  his  side, was 
to  all  seeming,  dead.  They  had  drawn  him 
aside  from  the  mouth  of  an  embrazure  where 
he  had  fallen — out  of  the  wa}^  of  the  struggling 
mass  of  fierce  humanity.  There  was  no  time 
for  nursing  or  asking  questions— a  Nation's 
credit — an  army's  life  was  in  the  scale.     When 


174  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

the  conflict  ceased  Olmstead  knelt  beside  him 
and  looked  down  into  the  upturned  white  and 
silentface — he  bent  his  head  to  listen — ''Thank 
God  he  breathes  " — but  Hugh  knew  nothing 
of  the  tenderness  which  bore  him  away  from 
the  ghastly  scene  ;  knew  nothing  of  the  gen- 
tle ministrations  of  those  who  loved  him. 
His  low  short  breathing  told  that  life  was 
not  extinct,  but  the  thread  which  bound  him 
to  it  was  very  slender — how  long  could  it 
stand  the  strain  ? 


Some  weeks  have  passed.  The  siege  is 
raised  and  about  Knoxville  the  blue  skies 
overarch  a  desolate  landscape,  but  the  city 
streets  show  signs  of  resurrection  from  the 
commercial  inactivity  and  gloom  which  had 
for  so  long  enshrouded  them.  The  white 
coverings  of  wagon  trains  are  discernible 
creeping  toward  the  town,  winding  among 
the  hills  and  valleys,  bringing  relief  and  nu- 
cleus of  trade ;  from  their  hiding  places  wo- 
men and  children  have  sought  the  shelter  of 
the  houses  which  the  cruelties  of  the  state  of 
siege  have  spared.     Energies  palsied  through 


AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  175 

a  mighty  fear  are  redirected  in  reopened 
channels ;  every  shoulder  is  pressed  to  the 
wheel ;  hope  and  thankfulness  for  the  few- 
things  left,  illumine  every  eye ;  Knoxville  has 
shaken  off  her  lethargy  and  taken  up  again 
the  struggle  for  life. 

In  a  private  ward  of  a  city  hospital,  Gris- 
wold  lies  hovering  between   life  and  death. 

His  wounds  are  slowly,  very  slowly  heal- 
ing. Nothing  but  his  splendid  constitution 
and  indomitable  will,  have  kept  him  from 
passing  to  the  silent  majority.  Olmstead  is 
up  country,  with  the  battery,  but  Griswold 
has  good  nurses  and  able  doctors  who  are 
fighting  for  him  step  by  step  toward  recovery. 

One  night,  the  train  from  Chattanooga 
brought  to  the  shell-riddled  town  half-a- 
dozen  nurses  of  the  gentler  sex ;  nurses  whose 
presence  within  the  wards  raised  hopes  which 
were  well  nigh  flagging ;  women  whose  patient 
gentle  ministrations  found  means  of  soothing 
many  a  restless  sufferer,  whose  skill  and  train- 
ing supplied  the  niceties  of  that  art  to  which 
men  never  can  attain. 

For  a  day  or  two    Griswold  had   seemed 


176  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

to  fall  back,  rather  than  advance  upon 
the  road  to  convalescence.  At  times,  his 
mind  had  wandered — Kitty's  name  had  been 
often  upon  his  lips  and  scalding  tears  had 
slowly  coursed  down  his  wan,  pale  cheeks. 
Starting-  from  a  restless  dream  one  night,  a 
woman  responded  to  his  call  and  held  the 
glass  to  his  fevered  lips  as  he  quenched  his 
thirst — then  gently  smoothed  his  pillow  and 
placed  her  hand  upon  his  brow  and  pushed 
back  the  disordered  hair. 

Hugh  looked  at  her  long,  then  turned  his 
eyes  away,  and  then  sought  hers  again — his 
mind  was  struggling  v/ith  some  image  her 
face  brought  back  to  him.  Quietly  as  she 
had  come,  she  moved  away  again — she  read 
his  trouble  but  could  not  answer  then,  and 
her  presence  only  kept  him  from  the  sleep  he 
needed — but  the  simple  gracious  act  of  her 
ministration  to  his  need  had  done  its  part — 
and  a  few  moments  later  Hugh  slept  as  he 
had  not  slept  for  days.  Night  after  night 
the  same  noiseless  foot-steps  moved  about  the 
sick  room,  supplying  the  sick  man's  needs — 
little  by  little  the  bod}'  regained  its  strength 


AN    IDYL   OF  WAR-TIMES.  177 

— little  by  little  the  wandering  mind  fas- 
tened its  hold  upon  familiar  things.  At  last, 
one  night,  as  the  doctor  left  the  ward  and 
those  preparations  for  the  long  hours  before 
day — the  shaded  light,  the  smoothing  of  the 
pillows,  the  sleeping  draught,  the  hundred 
little  things  a  woman's  tact  suggests — were 
all  completed,  Hugh  beckoned  the  nurse  to 
his  bedside.  For  a  moment  he  looked  up 
into  her  face  as  though  doubtful  of  himself, 
but  only  for  an  instant. 

"  Madelaine,"  he  said,  "  you  here  ?  '* 
*'  Yes,  and  glad  to  be  here  ;  but  you  must 
not  talk ;  there  wall  be  time  enough  by  and 
by — sleep  now,"  she  answered,  and  she  moved 
away  a  little  and  ^vatched  him  as  his  eyes 
slowly  closed  and  a  look  of  quiet  content 
spread  over  his  face  and  the  sleep  of  rejuven- 
ation took  possession  of  him,  and  seating  her- 
self beside  the  table,  upon  which  a  little  clock 
ticked  busily,  the  sweet  gentle  Avoman 
thanked  God  in  her  heart  that  her  coming 
had  borne  good  fruit,  and  began  the  lonely 
vigil  of  the  night. 
Days  had  passed  into  weeks ;  Griswold  is 


178  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

up  and  about  again.  The  chill  has  melted 
from  out  the  sky  and  the  soft  Southern  air 
is  astir  and  busied  with  its  work  of  bedeck- 
ing the  hill-sides  with  fragrant  bloom— ever}-- 
where  the  unsightly  evidences  of  hostile- 
presence  are  fading  before  the  march  of  re- 
generation— the  city  is  taking  on  its  old  life 
again — the  farmer  is  busy  with  his  fields. 
Madelaine  and  Griswold,  sitting  upon  the 
verandah  outside  the  latter's  room,  looking 
out  into  the  light  of  the  dying  da}',  watching 
the  pretty  river  in  its  fiow,  on  past  the  city, 
through  the  distant  meadows  and  the 
stretches  of  pines  and  walnut  which  hemmed 
them  in ;  below  them  a  little  steamer,  busy 
with  preparations  for  departure,  and  the 
murmur  of  the  city's  life  borne  faintly  to 
their  ears, 

Conscious  that  between  them,  now  that 
Hugh  is  beyond  the  need  of  nursing,  has 
arisen  a  singular  sense  of  embarrassment, 
and  Hugh,  who  to-morrow  will  be  starting 
for  the  East,  feels  that  he  cannot  go  before 
pouring  out  to  Madelaine  the  full  measure 
of  his  heartfelt  gratitude  for  that  care  and 


AN   IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES.  179 

tenderness  which  he  had  so  sadly  needed 
and  she  so  willingly  had  bestowed.  Turn- 
ing to  her  he  took  her  hand  in  his  and  pressed 
it  to  his  lips  as  he  said  : 

"  Madelaine,  how  can  I  speak  to  a  heart  so 
kind  and  true  as  yours  in  words  which  shall 
tell  you  all  the  gratitude  which  moves  my 
own.  You  have  given  me  my  life,  jNIade- 
laine,  for  I  doubt  if  less  careful  nursing  could 
have  availed  against  what  seemed  the  herald 
of  the  end,  but  what  can  I  return  to  3'ou  ? 
The  iron  of  bitterness  has  eaten  into  my  soul, 
passion  is  dead  within  me  ;  I  but  stand  above 
the  grave  which  has  swallowed  up  that 
which,  in  its  birth,  its  beauty,  and  its  sweet- 
ness, brought  my  earthly  heritage  of  joy,  and 
in  its  death  left  me  the  legacy  of  loneliness 
and  despair.  You  and  I,  Madelaine,  have 
both  had  rude  and  hard  awakenings  ;  let  us, 
in  our  sorrow,  join  the  hands  of  friendship, 
and  as  down  life's  vista  we  move,  seeking  for 
that  avenue  whose  sign-post  shall  mark  the 
turning-point  from  our  earthly  pilgrimage, 
pause,  and  say  there  the  last  farewell  which 
life  allows,  proud  in  our  loyalty  to  our  be- 


iSo  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

loved  dead,  true  in  our  friendship  for  each 
other." 

And  so  they  parted,  and  Madelaine  from 
her  window  that  night  looked  out  upon  the 
silver  thread  of  water  on  which  she  could 
licar  the  beat  oi  the  little  steamer's  life,  and 
thougfht  how  sweet  it  was  to  feel  that  be- 
neath  God's  skies  there  beat  so  true  a  heart 
as  Hugh's,  and  that  she  could  proudly  call 
him — friend.  But  some  things  yield  to 
Time's  conquering  power,  and  so  at  last  the 
signs  of  w^ar  faded  from  the  land,  and  the 
healing  influences  of  purer  thought  and 
kindlier  impulse  developed  fairer  scenes,  and 
where  before  ten  thousand  men  had  stood  in 
angr}^  mood,  now  flowed  the  peaceful  tide  of 
husbandry,  and  flowers  blossomed  and  song 
birds  caroled  their  sweetest  la3's,  and  ugly 
scars  w^ere  smoothed  away  and  the  song  of 
"  Peace  "  was  afloat  upon  the  air. 

"  And  the  stars  heard  and  from  their  wandering  aisles 
Dropped  down  the  blessing  of  their  golden  smiles." 

Marjorie  and  Olmstead  were  married  a 
year  later,  as  the  purpling  vineyards  told 


AN   IDYL  OF  WAR-TIMES.  i8i 

that  the  new  wine  was  ready  for  the  gather- 
ing. Within  sight  and  sound  of  the  restless 
waves  which  washed  the  v/hite  sands  border- 
ing a  stretch  of  meadow-land ;  within  the 
shade  of  fruit-trees  and  shelter  of  vine-clad 
hills,  stood  a  pretty  cottage  home,  and  here 
one  woman  was  returning — beautiful  with 
the  influence  of  a  chastening  sorrow  and  the 
consciousness  of  sweet  charity's  work  well 
done — and  another  was  departing,  the  world 
before  her,  the  star  of  promise  bright  in  its 
sphere  above  ;  her  life  aglow,  and  innocent 
of  the  ashes  which  triumph  over  hope  and 
follow  in  the  train  of  disappointment.  The 
sun  had  hidden  his  last  rays  within  the  en- 
gulfing depths  of  the  sea  beyond.  The 
sound  of  "  Curfew  "  came  faintly  from  a  dis- 
tant spire  and  mingled  with  the  low  sweet 
murmurs  of  the  deep;  the  shadows  deep- 
ened— one  by  one  in  the  vault  above,  the 
stars  peeped  out  in  emphasis  of  the  reign  of 
night.  The  bride  had  said  the  last  farewells 
to  the  score  of  pretty  village  girls  and  their 
lovers,  who  had  flocked  in  with  "  God- 
speeds "  and  words  of  gratulation,  and  then 


i82  AN    IDYL   OF   WAR-TIMES. 

Marjorie  threw  herself  into  her  sister's  arms, 
and  wept  the  bitter  tears  which  ever  fall 
upon  the  last  sweet  blossoms  growing  upon 
the  border-land  of  girlhood;  and  Hugh, 
looking  on,  took  Olmstead  by  the  arm  and 
said  to  him  :  "  God  bless  you,  boy,  and  good- 
by — see  to  it  that  the  flood  of  tears  which 
Marjorie  is  shedding  now,  followmg  'the 
rich,  full  bound  of  her  heart,'  never  flows 
again  to  the  dull  accompaniment  of  a  thud." 
And  Hugh  Griswold  passed  out  alone  into 
the  night,  wending  his  homeward  way  along 
the  sands,  with  which  the  sea  was  holding 
tryst  and  colloquy  and  two  names  the  rippling 
waves  kept  whispering  as  he  went — Kitty — 
Madelaine — Kitty — Madelaine — in  unwearied 
iteration  till  he  turned  to  leave  the  shore  and 
then,  one  name  fell  faintly  on  his  ear  as  some 
sweet  memory  of  music  lingers  when  the 
hand  has  ceased  to  stir  the  pulsing  string — 
but  the  otJicr  spoke  to  him  from  its  dwelling 
place  in  his  heart  and  on  the  wind  it  came  to 
him  borne  from  //arresting  place  upon  the  hill 
above  the  rushing  river. 

THE  END. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 


Wilmer 
90 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

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